


Guardian of the Gates

by SpinnerDolphin



Series: Fair Winds and Following Seas [1]
Category: Torchwood, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: But it takes a while, F/M, Jack is a hot mess, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Not Miracle Day Compliant, Tortall makes people better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 68,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinnerDolphin/pseuds/SpinnerDolphin
Summary: Once upon a time, a man lost everything. He ran as fast and as far as he could.In a faraway land, Daine and Numair find a stranger mauled by a spidren--but somehow not dead.And so the story goes: a pantheon of gods, an open gate, a man who died, and a man who won't-- there is something wrong in Tortall and somehow, Daine and Numair's lying stranger is at the heart of it.[No knowledge of either canon is necessary; everything will be explained in the narrative!]





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> There is one very, very important trigger warning. It's spoilery, but it's so important that I'm going for it anyway. 
> 
> This story was written in 2009, which was a very different political climate than today. Oddly enough, this story is kind of timely--the Powers That Be are both unkind and unfair to refugees in our world, too. So my trigger warning is this: **bad things happen to lovely, peaceful refugees in this story, through the decree of an uncaring god.** This is Torchwood-style character death--that is, violent, sweeping, and pointless--so brace yourself. It wasn't meant to be commentary on the state of the world when I wrote it but.... it kind of turned out that way now. 
> 
> BUT, if this will upset you, please skip this fic. 
> 
> [The notes at the bottom are the fun ones; I think this was more important so I put it at the top.]

_“I can't imagine a time when this isn't everything. Pain so constant, like my stomach's full of rats.  
Feels like this is all I am now. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt.”_

                -Ianto Jones, “Greeks Bearing Gifts”

 

 

* * *

 

 

IT HAD BEEN a little over a year, though in space a year was a relative thing. He moved on with his life. His past burned behind him, but he moved on, never stopping and more importantly, never looking back.

He was called Jack Harkness, he was Colla Ruff, he was Daniel Walker; he was anyone and everyone he could think of, unremarkable or untraceable or both. He worked his business and he left, because if he stayed—well. He never stayed.

Sometimes he was a hitchhiker, sometimes he was planetside long enough to travel on foot or by some kind of landbound vehicle. If he was lucky, he found someone with a ship, and he could flirt his way on board. He wasn't picky; they could be beautiful or not, male, female, or neither. It was the ugly, overlooked ones that liked the company better, anyway. His wrist strap was still partially burned out, but he'd fiddled with it and he'd gotten the teleport working for short distance. He didn't have the parts to fix the Vortex manipulator properly, but that was alright, if anything was alright, which it wasn't.

He did not often see beauty in his travels, although if the horror got too thick he would leave; a stolen escape pod would do, or if he was unlucky enough to be planetside, a quick getaway into the woods would work just as well. The man who had been Jack Harkness for over a century had a high tolerance for horror, though, especially after—

—After everything. He tried not to think about it. Mostly, he succeeded. It wasn’t worth it any more.

\---

Numair Salmalin thought cheerfully to himself that life did not get much better than this. He wriggled his bare toes happily on the warm stone of his balcony, and strode closer to the edge to meet the beautiful, beautiful woman waiting for him. The summer breeze whispered in the treetops, and Veralidaine Sarrasri smiled at him as he approached, her curls lifting in the wind. He grinned delightedly back at her, heart squeezing because _gods_ how he loved her.

Numair reached out a hand to tug playfully on a loose brown curl of hair. He was hoping for a laugh or a swat and another smile, but her eyes - the color of coastal waters, he'd actually spent many hours thinking about this; they were blue-gray - suddenly went glassy and Numair paused in concern. When she swayed, he lunged to catch her.

Perfection never lasted, he reflected ruefully.

"Daine?"

She staggered into the arm he threw out, breathing unevenly. He managed to wrap another arm around her waist. "Sweet?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

Numair had followed her up to the balcony - she'd been trying to coax him to fly with her. Her magic was wild, the strongest wild magic he'd ever seen, and as such she could transform. It was remarkable, really; Daine could change into any animal she pleased, and she could even pick and choose parts she liked, and change into an amalgam. Numair, who wore the black robe, could change himself into a hawk and Daine had recently realized that this meant they could fly together. Numair put up a token resistance - transforming cost him more energy than it did her, but he always relented in the end. Frankly, it was too much fun to refuse.

They were supposed to have fun. This was _supposed_ to be a vacation, though between the two of them it never turned out that way. This had happened last time, too, though it had been a few years before the Immortals War, and before they had been together. Numair had bespelled a mushroom and it had all gone downhill from there. They just weren’t made for vacations, he supposed. Numair tightened his arm around her.

Daine’s hair was scrunched up against his chest and her cheek pressed just below his collarbone. She was breathing heavily, wheezing as though the clear afternoon air were filled with smog. "Something's wrong," Daine managed to gasp.

"Well, clearly," he replied, half joking as he swung her up to carry her out of the sunlight and back to their room. Flying was certainly not going to happen, not with Daine in this condition, whatever this condition was. He swallowed a faint feeling of alarm; Pirate's Swoop, and access to a healer, was miles away. "Can you breathe, magelet?"

Daine nodded and leaned her head into his shoulder, not so much for the support as for the closeness. "Yes, I'm fine," she said. "There was just—it was so sudden." She sounded confused rather than in pain, which was a relief. It was not like her to swoon; Daine was no helpless damsel. Numair tucked her closer and carried her through a shadowy archway and into a hall that led to their room.

"I can walk, Numair," she protested.

"We're almost there anyway. Indulge me," he said.

She sighed dramatically, but she sounded amused. Good, Numair thought. If she's amused she's not in pain. He was probably overreacting, but he always overreacted when Daine was involved, so nothing was out of the ordinary. He carried her without further protest to their bedroom.

It was large and haphazardly furnished, roughly circular in shape with thick curtains over the windows to prevent draft. It had been Numair's before Daine had moved in with him, and he wasn't much of a decorator. He did, however, like quality; the armchairs in front of the fireplace did not match, but they were both comfortable, and the bed was luxurious. As it was a tower, the walls were stone, but the floor was covered in several soft rugs. Numair strode across them as he made his way to their bed.

He set her carefully on the down blankets and then crouched in front of her, one hand on his knee and the other on hers. Daine crossed her legs and sat up straight, scowling at him. She sank a little among the bedclothes. "I'm not made of glass, you know." She swiped at a curl that had fallen into her eyes while Numair had carried her. It fell back in front of her face.

"Yes," he replied fondly, tucking the hair away and brushing the shell of her ear with his thumb, "but sometimes I like to treat you as though you are. Just to make sure." He smiled at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't I know it," she said.

"What did you feel?" he asked. He rose to sit beside her on the bed. Daine feeling anything at all was generally not a good sign. The last time he remembered her having such a reaction was not long ago. The thing had been a Chaos vent, and that had been—very bad, actually.

Daine's smile faded. She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand thoughtfully. "It felt like an Immortal," she said, "but it was all wrong. More wrong than they usually are." She frowned a little, clearly not liking her own explanation.

Numair tucked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "I suppose this means we're going to go looking for it," he said, trying for resigned but failing. Really, he should have been annoyed, but adventures with Daine always proved interesting. Daine had shown him more new things and strange magics than all his years at university. She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"Have I told you I love you, lately?"

Numair bent to kiss her nose. "Yes, but it's nice to hear. Love you too, sweets." He squeezed her close for a moment and then rose. "Do you know where it was coming from?"

She shook her head, standing as well. Numair gave her a hard, appraising look, making sure that she wasn't going to wobble. She huffed at him.

"I'm fine, honestly. C'mon, let's see what we can find." Daine took his hand and tugged.

"And here I thought we were supposed to be on vacation," Numair said lightly.

Daine laughed. "There's never a vacation," she said and tugged again. He followed with a rueful smile.

At the end of the Immortals War and a few months after the cleanup, King Jonathan had told both of them to leave the city capital and take a break. When they refused, he had ordered them to do it. They had both been in the heart of the war, and he had said that they'd done enough. Protesting the whole way, Daine and Numair left Corus and had gone to Numair's tower. The vacation was admittedly welcome, although after a few days they had both started to grow restless.

Numair followed Daine out of the bedroom and around to the stairwell. His tower was made up on one central column, with large circular rooms stacked one on top of the other. Outside of each room was a steep stairwell that wound around the whole tower, circling it three times top to bottom. This left space for windows in a few of the rooms, although they were rather small to prevent draft in the winter.

Daine trotted down the stairs and Numair followed. She stopped off in the mud room, where her longbow was sitting on a bench, freshly oiled and polished. Numair spared a brief thought for the bow, Daine’s pride and joy, and a gift from her father. That had also been an adventure, he mused, and opened the door. He held it for her, blinking in the sunlight of the bright summer day. Daine slung the bow over her shoulder and they walked across the grassy lawn - kept trimmed by a few careful spells and a kindly caretaker - and toward a small barn, where they kept their horses.

The barn was shadowy, and as Numair strode to tack his patient, painted gelding, Daine spoke quietly to her pony, a steel gray mare named Cloud. Numair heard the mare snort in response.

"Daine?" Numair asked from across the way, carefully putting a saddle on long-suffering Spots. Numair's horse-sense was beyond bad, and he knew it. He would be embarrassed, but it wasn’t like Daine didn’t know. Daine no doubt heard Spots complaining anyway. He tried to be careful with the saddle, at least.

"Cloud says that it felt like a wolf," Daine was saying. "She said the Bad Wolf's cub, who is not a cub." She scratched Cloud's neck. Numair reached for the girth, and then realized that he had forgotten it. He gave Spots a stern look and said, "No shaking off the saddle." His horse actually rolled his eyes, and Numair walked out of Spots' stall to get the girth. Spots had clearly been spending too much time with Daine; animals who spent significant amounts of time with her tended to develop human-like attributes, particularly when it came to intelligence.

"Does that mean anything to you?" he asked Daine over his shoulder.

Daine shrugged. "No more than to you."

Numair heard a clunk and sighed. Girth in hand, he walked back to find that Spots' saddle had fallen to the ground. Chuckling, Daine exited Cloud's stall to help him re-saddle his horse. Cloud strolled out of her open stall. She only wore a bridle, as Daine preferred bareback. The very idea of bareback made Numair feel unsteady.

"It's certainly odd," Numair told her, handing Daine the girth. She took it and buckled it around Spots. She led the black and white painted gelding out of his stall before giving Numair a leg up. He gritted his teeth and got on with it. It never seemed to go right. He flopped belly-down onto Spots’ back and flailed a bit before righting himself on the horse. He looked down at Daine, who was doing her best but ultimately failing not to laugh at him.

He glared, but it was without heat. She giggled, and hopped onto Cloud’s back with all the grace of a dancer. 

Daine led him out of the stable and into the bright light of the afternoon, turning east.

\---

_BANG!_

A man in a long gray coat appeared in a flash of blue light. He staggered and shook his head, clearing it. The brush rustled under his feet.

That was a hellova jump, he thought sourly to himself, rolling up his sleeve to make sure his wrist strap was still in working condition. He flipped open the leather and regarded the little computer. It bleeped cheerfully at him, and he prodded at a few buttons before looking up and glaring at the sky. That had been a sticky situation.

They’d turned out to be damned organ harvesters. He’d got off that ship as fast as he could, before they found out, because that could get very ugly for him very quickly. He had played that game before, and it was not a fun game. Being someone’s personal organ farm was not on his to-do list. It had definitely been time to go. They were criminals, but he knew better than to play hero.  Those days were gone. He didn't have the stomach for it anymore.

This had been the nearest planet and the farthest jump for his poor wrist strap since it had last burnt out. He was lucky even the teleport was still working, let alone anything more advanced. So he couldn't travel in time. He could deal with that. Space would do, and wasn't it all the same, anyway? It wasn't like he didn't have time to spare.

He looked down and then around. At least the atmosphere was hospitable. It looked like he was in a forest but he didn't recognize any of the trees. It was kind of pretty, he thought vaguely, but it didn’t really process. More practically, he thought about green leaves and oxygen, which hopefully meant photosynthesis, and not something nastier. That was good. Forests like this meant animals— small things to eat, or big things to eat him.

"Brilliant," he muttered. He looked around, and picked a direction. 

He noticed when the birds stopped chirping, and he frowned at the silence. There were no little animals, he thought - nothing small scurried up the trees and into hide-holes. That was unfortunate because he was getting rather hungry. He'd survived worse, he thought grimly, and then something sticky and burning hit his back hard, and he cried out in shock.

 


	2. Two

 

Daine felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. There were spidrens nearby, her least favorite Immortal. She was about to turn back and warn Numair, but before she’d even twisted around, someone shouted in the distance.

"Spidrens," she hissed to him, and urged Cloud into a full gallop.

Behind her, Numair yelped in surprise as Spots leaped forward to catch up, but she wasn’t worried. Spots would take care of him. They raced down the road, and Daine led them into the woods at a breakneck pace, drawing her bow and then loosing it. The arrow flew, and embedded itself into a large female spidren; the massive, human-headed spider gurgled and toppled over. Cloud skidded to a halt and Daine dismounted.

“Sweets, are there others around?” Numair asked as he drew up his Gift. Magic, black and glittering, rippled around his hands. Panting, Spots lowered his nose.

Daine reached out. “Three,” she said, and strode to stand next to Cloud’s cheek, another arrow already nocked in her bow. She looked around.

There was a man on the ground, or what was left of a man. The spidren's webbing had burned right through his coat, although it was the strangest coat Daine had ever seen. It was dark gray, made from heavy wool, and there was a stripe on the shoulder. “Are you alright?” Daine asked, coming to kneel down beside him. She cut away the webbing, which had stopped burning once the spidren was dead.

“I think he’s dead, Daine.” Numair said. He had dismounted as well, and he came up behind her to lay a hand on her back. “Look, she bit him.” He gestured at the man's right shoulder, where the fabric of the coat had torn, and the spidren's fangs had left bloody wounds on the skin beneath.

Daine looked regretfully at the wound. The venom would have killed him instantly. “You’re right.” They were too late. She reached to close the dead man's eyes, and leave him for the remaining three spidrens. His skin was cold.

She got up and started to walk back to Cloud.

Behind her, there was a great, shuddering, wheezing gasp. Daine whirled with a surprised yell, arrow nocked and ready to fly. Even Numair jumped, power blazing around his hands, battle ready.

 “Mithros!” he cried, taking a step back. The man was not dead; he sat up, blinked and rolled his shoulder, apparently not wounded under the bloody shirt. Daine stared. Hadn't there just been a massive, gory bite there? His eyes, a shocking blue, landed on her. He grinned.

“Bet you’ve never seen a trick like that,” he panted, heaving himself to his feet.

He glowed. To her trained eyes, gold fire twined around him, disappearing into his chest. It was magic she had never seen before, but it felt—bad. Horrifying in a way she couldn’t articulate. “You’re all wrong!” Daine blurted, unable to stop staring at him.

 The man had come to his feet, looking as though nothing had happened, although his clothing was torn and burned.

“Daine,” Numair scolded. He looked at the stranger. “While I am quite curious as to how you just did that,” he said softly, “there are three more spidrens in the area, and I think it would behoove us to move quickly.”

“Spidrens,” the man repeated, still sounding as though he were out of breath. He dropped his eyes down to the dead one, with Daine’s arrow protruding from its back. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Daine said, shaking herself, and tugged Numair's hand to go back to their horses. Numair tilted his head to the stranger and he followed. “Was there anyone with you?” Daine asked. She walked over to Cloud and put a hand on her mane, heaving herself onto the gray pony's back. Cloud was staring at Jack, nostrils flared.

Are you alright? Daine asked her.

Something's wrong with him, Cloud replied. I can smell it.

The man huffed a little. The sound could not quite be called laughter. “I’m alone,” he said. He walked over, steps silent against the forest floor and muscles tense, as though ready to run.

“You’re not from Tortall,” Numair said, gracelessly mounting Spots. The painted gelding rolled his eyes heavenward and Daine suppressed a chuckle.

“How’d you guess?” the man asked lightly. His teeth glittered in a charming smile. The tension melted from his shoulders and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his ruined coat, standing as though he were at perfect ease. Daine blinked at the smooth transformation. That was—odd.

“I should think the clothes gave it away,” Numair replied, taking Spots' reins. “Your coat is ruined, I’m afraid,” he added, starting to take off his cloak, probably to offer it. “If you—”

“ _What?_ ” the man blurted, the easy charm melting from his face like a wax mask. Daine and Numair exchanged a glance, surprised. “No, no, no,” he muttered, swiftly shucking the coat and seeing the hole in the back. “No. You must have tailors here,” he said, striding between their horses to look from one to the other beseechingly. “This—this can’t be ruined,” he added. “Not yet.”

“You can get it fixed,” Daine said, startled at the outburst. It was like whiplash. He’d been wary, charming, and now he looked as though his heart had broken, all in the space of a few minutes.

The man swallowed. “You have _tailors_?” he said again, his blue eyes wide and wounded and somehow _old_.

“Yes,” Numair told him before Daine could. “That looks like wool. I’m sure they could fix it.”

The man licked his lips and nodded, tucking the garment lovingly over his arm. “Good. Thank you. I— didn’t catch your names.” He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable at his own outburst, though he tried for a smile.

“He’s Numair Salmalin,” Daine said. She urged Cloud back to the road. “My name is Veralidaine Sarrasri, but you can call me Daine. Who’re you?”

He followed amiably. “Cap’n Jack Harkness,” he said with a bright smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Call me Jack.”

“Captain?” Numair asked. He swayed a little on Spots' back as the horse stepped over the the brush. “You’re a bit inland for that.”

The man gave a bark of laughter. “My ship ran aground,” he said wryly.

“Pretty far aground,” Daine said. Was he lying? It sounded like a lie, except there was something about him, something about that golden light, that told her there was something else there.

The Captain's eyes were sharp, his smile cheerful and evasive. “It was long ago, and far away.”

Daine looked back at Numair, trying to telegraph that this man might be dangerous. Numair looked back her, a little grim; he was clearly having similar thoughts, but he did not press him.

He’s a wolf, Cloud told Daine softly, as though just figuring it out. Her hooves clapped against stones as they reached the road again.

A wolf? Daine asked her. She looked down in surprise at the pony's mane. Behind them, Spots' hooves clattered as he and Numair emerged from the woods, their new acquaintance close behind.

Cloud snorted. Yes, she said, I do not know how, but he is. He was dead before. I could smell it. He came back to life.

“What?” Daine asked aloud, startled into speaking aloud, and both the Captain and Numair looked at her. “Sorry,” she told them sheepishly. Cloud huffed at Daine's carelessness.

“What what?” Jack asked her, all wry amusement, just as the gray pony replied, I do not know.

“Never mind, I was talking to—” she gestured to Cloud’s neck.

“Your horse,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow. There was a laugh in his voice, like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke.

“My pony,” Daine corrected.

“Daine’s a wildmage,” Numair said, the note of pride in his voice enough to make Daine flush, just a little. “Well, _the_ wildmage would be more appropriate – I don’t think there’s another like her. She can talk to animals, among other things.”

“You can talk to animals.” Jack gave her a skeptical look, still braced as though waiting for a punchline.

Daine shrugged. She held out her hand thoughtfully, thinking of the best way to convince him. Her fingers elongated into a monkey’s paw, and from there to a raccoon, and from there a wolf, before returning to her regular pink skin. Numair quirked a grin at her, eyes gleaming, impressed even though he had taught her do to that himself.

“Well,” Jack said, recovering surprisingly quickly. “I’ve seen stranger things. I don’t suppose you’re a wildmage too,” he added, turning to Numair. Cloud let out a bray like laughter, and even Daine chuckled.

“She can understand me?” their guest asked in surprise, turning to the pony. Cloud laid back her ears and champed her teeth around the bit.

I don’t like him, she said.

“Sure,” Daine said, tugging the reins to prevent Cloud from following through with the threat. Behave, she scolded silently. “She’s been around two-leggers long enough. And no, Numair’s not. He _is_ one of the best mages in Tortall, though,” she added, just as proud of him as he was of her.

Numair gave her a slightly flustered look, pleased with her high opinion of him, as she was of his high opinion of her. Jack raised his eyebrows even higher, but did not comment.

 

\---

Right. Humanoids with horses, and good people, if he was any judge. The magic thing was weird, but he’d seen stranger. Perhaps it was some form of telepathy, or telekinesis? The shape shifting was not entirely unheard of, anyway.

Okay. Mages and wildmages. He could take it with a grain of salt –if these people believed in magic, then he wouldn’t stop them. It might turn out to his advantage, somehow.

Jack sighed to himself. This whole conning gig was not for him anymore, not really. He’d been around scoundrels and thieves and downright evil long enough to know good when he saw it, and these two were it. He could tell that right off the bat. He’d even slipped up and given them the name Jack Harkness. God, he never wanted to hear that name again. He should’ve called himself Colla Ruff. Colla was a thief and a bastard, and he could be Colla with little problem, but—

The only one of his many identities that was kind in any way, shape, or form to good people was Jack Harkness. So the name had risen, unbidden, to his lips. Hell.

He’d slipped up about the coat, too. Today was not his day. It was a stupid and risky thing to do, especially for someone with his years and experience. He was lucky these two _were_ good people, otherwise this could have gotten nasty, and he might have lost the coat. He still might, in fact. As it was, his slip of control might have been a lucky boon; the show of emotion seemed to soften them. Good. He would need allies. Jack hugged the garment a little closer to himself.

Damn it all, he was not going to lose this coat, not to something as stupid as a shot in the back from whatever that thing had been. They had called it a spidren – he supposed the creatures were common, here. A native species? Damned if he knew.

Surreptitiously, he scanned the shape-shifting woman with his wrist strap. She registered as _human_ , which was odd, and with a frown he scanned the man as well, with the same results. There was something wrong here; humans should not be off Earth for a few centuries yet, unless more time than he thought had passed. Never mind the whole magic thing.

It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t his business, was it? Besides, they thought that they had saved his life, which meant that they were trying to help.

He supposed that waking up after getting eaten would have been unpleasant. They had spared him that.

“Are you alright?” Daine, the woman who could apparently talk to animals, was giving him a concerned look. She was a pretty young thing, he thought to himself – was she even out of her late teens? Just look at those big blue eyes.

“Fine,” Jack told her, and tried to blind her with a toothy grin. It must have been unconvincing, he thought, because Numair eyed him oddly.

“I’ve never seen clothes like yours,” Numair said. He was a fine piece of work too, was Numair Salmalin, all dark eyes and swarthy skin. Daine—Sarrasri, had she said?—was his equal match, with her wild curly hair and easy smile. What a pretty pair they made. He could have fun here, Jack mused. “Where are you from, Jack?”

“Far away,” Jack told him with a shrug, not giving away his frankly lascivious thoughts. “Really far away.”

“That’s fair vague,” Daine said dryly. Jack tried to smile. Well, he thought, vague was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “It is.” It was time to change the subject, because questions of his origins were sticky.

Hold on, no they weren’t. “You won’t have heard of it,” he added.

“Somewhere beyond the Copper Isles?” Daine asked, sweet and innocent. Low hanging fruit, that one.

Good gamble. They haven’t even explored their own world yet, he thought. Perfect. No reason for them to know that the place he gave them would not exist for about thirty centuries or so. The best way to lie, of course, was with the truth. “Way beyond that,” he said honestly. “Place called the Boeshane Peninsula. Told you you’ve never heard of it.”

“And you speak Common?” Numair asked skeptically. Good point. Clever fellow. Luckily, Jack had an answer to that. It was even true. He indicated his wrist strap. “S’got a translator in it. It’s keyed to me, though.” These people believed in spells and magic, so he just might be able to pull this off.

“That’s some pretty strong spell work,” Numair said, sounding interested. Success. “Would you mind if I take a look?”

“If I take it off, it cancels,” Jack lied. He’d be damned if he let the technology out of his sight—besides, it had sentimental meaning, too. He rubbed the leather with his thumb gently. Long ago and far away. 

 “When we get back then,” Daine decided. Jack let the almost-memory slip away, forcing himself into the present.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. No reason to make them suspicious of him, and so long as the thing didn’t leave his arm and his arm didn’t leave the rest of him, he didn't particularly care what they did.


	3. Three

“There’s something wrong with him,” Daine told Numair that night after dinner.

They were curled up together on the same balcony that Daine had almost fallen from that afternoon, sitting in a chair that was just slightly too large for one person, and too small for two. Jack Harkness had pleaded exhaustion from his travels, and retired to the spare room that Numair had offered him.

“Yes,” Numair replied thoughtfully, lips close to her temple, so that his breath whispered across her forehead. “There is. His wrist strap had no magic in it.”

“I know,” Daine said. “He feels like an Immortal. But that’s wrong, he’s a two-legger, isn’t he?”

“He appears as much,” Numair said. “I’m not getting anything odd off him at all, magically. He’s not even Gifted.” He sighed. “But my intuition is telling me that he’s very strange indeed.”

Daine shifted so she could look him in the eye, pressed close. “Do you think there really is a Boeshane Peninsula?”

“Yes,” Numair said. Daine frowned at him. He winked at her and drew a little pouch out of his pocket. “Eyebright. Shows when someone’s lying.”

Daine batted at his hand playfully when he reached for her nose. “Since when d’you carry that around?”

“Thought it might be useful.” He shrugged. She chuckled a little, and they smiled at each other for a moment before Numair’s eyes went distant again. “Cloud is still convinced that he’s a wolf?”

Daine nodded.

Numair tugged his nose thoughtfully. “Well,” he said after a moment, “we like wolves, don’t we?”

She laughed. “We do. I suppose this means we’re—what d’you call it?”

“Giving him the benefit of a doubt,” Numair supplied, pulling her back into his arms.

“That’s the one. Giving him the benefit of a doubt.” Daine snuggled into his shoulder contentedly.

\---

Jack leaned his forehead against the doorframe.

No good, he thought. No good at all.

They’d given him a meal and a room for the night – the nicest meal and the most comfortable room he’d had for a long time. The food had actually been good, and not poisoned, or roofied, or anything. Why, the last time he’d had nice meal had been—

With Ianto, of course. Something painful touched his heart. Was it really _that_ long ago? Yes, he thought grimly. Cargo ships and black market traders always had cold food and colder eyes.

And here were these two, people who didn’t know him from Adam, giving him the benefit of a doubt. It was practically unheard of.

He could take advantage of their kindness. He could kill them and steal their home, live for a while in their nice tower, use their goods. Or he could play on their obvious age difference, and work to separate them to secure his place here or even just for his own amusement. He could con his way into their bed, for a night or two; they were both lovely, after all, and he could be gone by morning. He could have _so_ much fun with them.

Jack closed his eyes against the shame that rose in his gut. They were innocent. They were _so_ innocent. They’d invited him into their tower with barely a question. It was the easiest con he’d pulled in years. There was no fun hurting people that innocent.

The thought burned, unexpectedly. Right, Jack told himself, a little winded at the sting. He took a steadying breath and forcibly turned his mind from it. That was not a road he wanted to walk down tonight, or any other night.

Jack didn’t need to sleep much; as an immortal, he found himself needing little rest. Nevertheless, that bed that the two had shown him was warm and inviting, and the last truly inviting bed he’d had was, of course, with Ianto. Jack was _so_ tired. He moved away from the doorframe and walked, silently, downstairs to his room.

\---

There was a Girl in Daine’s dream.

She stood, glowing golden, and tears made tracks from her shimmering eyes. Around her was blue-black darkness, a vague, menacing room of metal and shadows. It was hard and cold and frightening, like no place Daine had ever seen before.

“I am the Bad Wolf,” the Girl said. Her soft voice faded, and became strong again. She was difficult to understand. “… Scatter, in time and space. A message.”

“Bad Wolf,” Daine felt herself asking. Her voice echoed oddly. The room was large and cavernous and silent, like she was standing underwater. “Who is Jack Harkness?”

“Protected…” the Girl said.

“From what?” Daine asked.

“I bring _life,_ ” the Girl insisted. Her dark, tear stained eyes locked on Daine’s, almost childlike. “But why do they hurt?”

“Who hurts?” Daine asked. “I don’t understand.”

“My head… is killing me…”

Pain exploded behind Daine’s eyelids and she yelled, sitting bolt upright, blankets falling around her waist.

“Daine!”

Beside her, Numair jolted awake. He grasped wildly for her, breathing hard. He patted at her, almost frantic, looking for wounds on instinct. Daine squeezed her eyes closed against the pain in her head. Finding nothing physically amiss, and apparently realizing that he was at home in bed and not surrounded by enemies, Numair calmed. He wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Daine opened her eyes to look at him. She willed her pounding heart to slow and the sharp pain in the center of her forehead to fade. She was panting, like she’d been sprinting. Numair’s other arm came up around her waist, and Daine realized that she was shaking. “Sweet?” His voice was anxious.

There was a thump and a thud downstairs and after a moment, Jack Harkness flung their door open, racing into the room without a shirt. “Someone yelled,” he said urgently. “And not in a good way. Are you alright?”

“Thank you for your concern,” Numair started, kindly but sternly, pulling Daine protectively to his chest, “but I think—”

“My head,” Daine interrupted, confused. The pain had faded enough for her to think properly, sliding from the center of her forehead to the pressure points above her ears. She clutched at her temples.

Jack loitered awkwardly in the doorjamb as Numair rubbed at Daine’s scalp. “Dearest?” he asked. His hands were overwarm but gentle.

“A dream,” Daine said as the pain faded. She tried to grasp the specifics—sometimes these things mattered, and this dream felt important. “There was—golden light. And a Girl.” She looked up at Jack hovering in the doorway. The man was actually naked; he had a sheet clutched to his waist. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said.

“S’alright. You can wake me up anytime,” he said, somehow casually coy. Daine felt Numair shift and his arms tightening around her. Startled, she looked up at him. Numair wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Jack.

 “If you do not mind,” the mage said coldly, and he said nothing else.

“Right,” Jack said. He seemed startled, as though realizing that what he had said was unacceptable but unsure why. “Right. I’ll see you in the morning. Sorry.” He left, sheets trailing behind him.

“Numair,” Daine reproached gently. The pain had faded almost completely now, and she smiled at him.

“He flirted with you. While you were in bed. With me.” Numair sounded more shocked than indignant. He sounded a bit like a scandalized noble of the court, which was quite unlike him. Daine chuckled.

“Did he bruise your poor ego?” she teased, tugging playfully on a loose strand of his long dark hair. “Are you afraid I’ll run off with that strange man we found in the woods, my love?”

Numair grimaced, clearly realizing he was being ridiculous. “How are you feeling?” he asked, gently rubbing her temples with his fingers. “Does it still hurt?”

Daine frowned and shook her head, “No. It’s gone now. That was—strange.”

“Yes. You said there was a girl in your dream.” His fingers smoothed tenderly along her hairline. “Can you remember anything else?”

Daine shook her head. “It’s gone now. Nice of Jack to come and check on us,” she added slyly, and Numair scowled at her.

“I can’t _believe_ he came in here without clothes,” he said, still sounding baffled, and Daine laughed.

“Fair sight he is,” she said, playing, but then Numair looked hurt at the words. She immediately felt terrible. “You have nothing to worry about,” she murmured, cupping his cheek.

“He’s younger,” Numair said. He casted his eyes away, self-conscious.

Daine stroked his cheek with her thumb tenderly, smiling at him, ready to reassure him, yet again, that she did not care that Numair was roughly fourteen years her senior. Then she frowned, thoughtful, because something there did not seem right. “I don’t think so, Numair,” she said slowly, stroking his nose. “I think—I think he’s older than he looks.”

“Better looking,” Numair sulked. He nuzzled her hand. He was asking for reassurance, but he was playing too. That was more like it.

“Never!”

They smiled at each other, and Numair kissed her gently. “I’m glad to hear it,” he whispered, and Daine giggled.


	4. Four

Sunlight streamed through the window, and there was something warm and heavy on his chest. Jack sighed, feeling content. He’d had such awful dreams last night; it was no wonder he’d given up sleeping. Still, there was something to be said for waking up sprawled on a soft, comfortable bed with Ianto draped across him. Eyes still closed, Jack smiled and reached to pet his hair.

 _\--I am not your mate, immortal,--_ a voice snapped irritably in his mind, and Jack realized abruptly that there was too much soft and not enough skin. What was that _smell_?

“Gyah!” Jack jerked upright, or he tried to— the thing on his chest was too heavy for any real movement. He had a brief moment of panic, feeling trapped. What he’d thought was Ianto’s head and shoulders turned out to be—“A _badger?_ ”

_\--What did you expect? The Queen of Chaos?—_

The panic was gone in a flash. Jack goggled. The creature was large and shaggy, and it watched him with intelligent black eyes. Its heavy claws were braced on the blanket covering Jack’s chest, and its wet nose was inches above his own. It was, absolutely, not Ianto. It was definitely a badger. That—was genuinely a surprise.

Jack had seen many things in his absurdly long lifetime. A telepathic badger that came from nowhere was a new one. A badger though—really? What were the odds? He started to see the humor in it. Ianto would have been completely horrified that Jack had mistaken him for a badger. An actual telepathic badger. In his bed!

“Well, certainly not a talking badger,” he replied gamely, not missing a beat, and tilted his chin down to observe the creature in question. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “What can I do for you?”

 _\--You will keep Daine and Numair safe. —_ The badger stared fiercely into Jack’s eyes, and Jack looked right back, more amused than cowed, although he was still definitely surprised. Daine and Numair had a pet talking badger, then. Or something. Weird day. _–There are terrible things to come in this realm, and we find ourselves powerless. You will keep them safe.—_

Jack blinked. This is completely absurd, he thought with not a small amount of glee. “I will, will I? What’s in it for me?” he asked.

The badger on his chest huffed a little. _\--Plenty of things,--_ it said. _\--Things that you will need, if I do not miss my mark. We will bargain later. There are things you must know.—_

Things that he would need? He didn’t need anything, or anyone. Everyone he ever needed was dead. His heart hardened, amusement starting to drain away. “Who says I’m going to help you? I don’t even know who you are, or what you are, for that matter. And of all the people in the universe for the asking, trust me when I say that I’m not a very good bodyguard.”

 _\--I do not care,--_ the badger said, and Jack winced at the feel of the heavy claws digging into the blanket. How had he thought this was Ianto? The damn thing _smelled_. Talk about wishful thinking. _\--I know you are from beyond these realms, and so you will understand things that are beyond the gods here,—_ the thing continued.

Jack stared at the badger. The amusement had disappeared entirely at this point. Now he was annoyed. He didn’t take orders from strangers, or badgers for that matter, never mind the nonsense about gods. “Who are you?”

The badger didn’t answer his question. _\-- There are things you need to know, Lone Wolf,—_ it reiterated, which was completely unhelpful _._ And Jack wasn’t called Lone Wolf. Where had that come from? Between the shapeshifting and the random badgers, this damn planet was on its way toward being one of the oddest Jack had ever encountered, and that was saying something. _\--This world is not like the others of your universe.—_

“Well, given the talking badger, I can see that,” he replied wryly. He was probably harping on the badger thing too much, but seriously. Talking badgers were new and different in his life. He thought he’d seen everything; clearly, he was mistaken. There were more pressing matters, however, most notably that the creature must’ve weighed around fifty pounds and Jack was starting to have trouble breathing.

A heavy paw cuffed him swiftly. “Ow!” Jack complained, startled, shifting to cup his smarting head. “What was that for? And will you get off my chest? I can’t breathe.”

The badger complied and Jack sat up, the thick, luxurious blankets Daine and Numair had supplied pooling around his waist. The badger stood beside him. It looked up and glared.  

_\--That was for speaking freshly to me. You may be unable to die, but that is no reason be disrespectful. --_

“ _Disrespectful?”_ Jack demanded, staring down at it. He rubbed his head and felt fairly alarmed that it somehow knew that he could not die. “You woke me up! I thought you were—” His voice faded and his hand dropped. “I thought you were someone I missed,” he managed. It came out a bit more bitter than he intended, and Jack gathered a handful of the blanket into his fist uncomfortably.

The badger averted its eyes, actually looking apologetic. _–I am sorry about the ones you lost,—_ it said.

“What do you know of it?” Jack snapped, bristling. His knuckles turned white.

 _\--Yours is not the only world that has been visited by those you call the Four-five-six, Captain Jack Harkness.—_ The creature’s mind-voice was filled with regret, and Jack felt a tremor run down his spine.  He hadn't heard their name--or their moniker, who knew what they were actually called--in a long, long time. He had done his best not to think about those monsters.

There was a silence. He stared at the badger. Horror unfurled in his belly like a flower, and shivers crept down his back. Unwanted memories rose to the surface, and he fought hard to push them down. They could swamp him, if he let them _._ He shivered again. Move forward. “How did you—”

 _\--They tried to come. They failed.—_ The badger’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

The words hit him like a brick to the head. He felt winded. Guilt welled up from where Jack had shoved it down, and he was unable to hide it from his voice. “You—you stopped them.”

 _\--Yes and no. The people here do not have the technology to communicate with them. They attempted to converse with the gods of this world.—_ The badger bared its teeth. _–We refused. The Great Gods silenced them once, and they did not come back. We know of your world. You have no gods to defend you.–_

“ _Gods?_ ” Jack rasped. He forced the more pressing matter of the badger’s explanation to the forefront of his mind, and let the terrible thoughts of that awful week fade back into his memories. It was hard. It was like trying to fit too many things into a suitcase. Jack shoved it down.  

The badger was glaring at him. _–Yes. That is why I’m here. I have been ordered to tell you where you are, and then strike a bargain with you.—_

Jack took a breath, and focused. “ _I’m_ in a very comfortable bed in Tortall with a talking badger,” Jack said. He winked at the badger suggestively. He was no fool; Numair Salmalin had given him his location seconds after they had met, and he’d filed it away, like a good conman. “I know exactly where I am.”

The badger gave him a skeptical look. _\--_ _This section of the universe forms a pouch. It is almost closed off from the rest, but not quite. –_ It regarded him seriously.

Jack blinked. That certainly explained a lot. “I’m in a pocket universe, with its own laws of physics,” he said and then fell back onto the pillows of his bed. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he told the ceiling. “I’m immortal. I’m mythical myself. Alright then, I suppose you’re Clio, the god of blowjobs, who takes the form of a great badger?”

It hit him so fast that Jack didn’t even have time to blink. “Ow!” he yelped.

 _\-- I don’t appreciate mockery, Captain Harkness, --_ the badger growled, waddling forward to glare at him from above. _–I am the male badger god, and I was assigned by Weiryn to be Daine’s guardian. This whole world is in danger.—_

Badger gods. Great, he thought, and remained supine, matching the badger glare for glare. “You don’t want me to save your world,” Jack said. “And you don’t want me to guard anyone. The people I protect tend to die.”

The badger snorted and moved away. Jack sat up when it said, _\--These two will not. –_

“What’s in it for me?” Jack said again.

  _–Well, for one we will allow you to stay here.—_ The animal regarded him coolly from where it was standing on the duvet.

That was preposterous. “ _Allow_ me to stay here?”  

The creature huffed, annoyed. _\--This world is protected by the gods here,--_ it said impatiently, _\--We have our own laws, and we do not let outsiders in lightly. You were allowed because of your… unique status, Captain, and you are protected. We have lost something, you see, and we want you to get it back. If you help, you will be permitted to stay. You will get warm meals and comfortable living. We can offer you favors – a few of the gods would act in your stead, if you so wish. –_

Jack frowned, although the conman in him sat up. The badger had his attention. “What sort of favors are you offering?”

The badger gave the impression of shrugging. _\--Almost anything you wish. The Great Gods are willing. Do you want monetary payment? We can get you gold. Food? Clothes? We can fix that coat of yours, if you like.—_

The coat was tempting, but Jack knew better: things with sentimental value were best left out of a gamble. “The coat is not a bargaining piece,” Jack said, and the badger did not contest it.

_\--Very well. Will you help? –_

“Give me a day or two to get my coat fixed,” Jack told the animal slowly, “I’ll think about it. Once it’s fixed, we’ll talk.”

_\--Very well.—_

Silver light filled the room, and the badger was gone. Jack stared at the ceiling. “That,” he said to the general air, “was one of the oddest things that I have ever seen, and that is definitely saying something.”


	5. Five

Numair hummed a little to himself, cutting a peach from the tree outside his tower. It was an early peach, but just soft enough to make a good addition to breakfast. Daine was off flying, as she often did early each morning, checking the weather and stretching her wings. This left Numair on his own, preparing the morning meal. He loved Daine with everything he had, but he liked the quiet sometimes, too.

Their guest had still not shown himself, and breakfast was almost ready. Numair lifted the plate filled with fruit, and placed it on the small table next to some eggs they had purchased a few days before. He walked to the main room, lifted a robe from the back of a chair and brought it back to the kitchen area.

“Daine! Jack!” he called, walking over to a window and letting his voice carry. “Breakfast!”

There was a moment of silence and then a screech and a small, familiar bird dived down from the sky. Numair smiled at her as she came through the window and held out the robe. “Hello, dear one, how was the view?”

The small raptor whistled at him and swooped to land on the floor beside the table, shifting and changing, and Daine, bare of clothing, was standing where it had been. She took the robe from Numair, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Fine! Looks like it’s going to be sunny today, like yesterday. I heard from a turkey vulture that there are some clouds a couple miles off, but I didn’t see any. How’s our guest?” She tied the cinch on the robe.

“Still not down,” he replied, reaching out to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear affectionately. Then, with a frown, he looked out the doorway and up the stairs, where the morning light made patterns of bright yellow squares on the cut stone. Still no Jack.

“Good. I’ll go put something on.” Daine kissed Numair’s other cheek with a smile and went to go upstairs. As she got to the stairwell, Jack Harkness, dressed in his peculiar clothes, peeked out of the doorjamb. He walked quietly, enough so that neither Daine nor Numair had heard him.

“Did you call?” he asked softly. Then he blinked at Daine in her bathrobe. “Am I interrupting something?”

Numair felt himself flush. “Breakfast’s ready,” Daine said, before he could reply. “I was just checking the weather. When I shape change, I don’t have any clothes.” She shrugged.

“That’s inconvenient,” Jack said, stepping down the last two stairs and making his way over. “Well. Depending on the circumstance, I guess.”

Numair bristled, and Jack shot him a sidelong glance, as if puzzled. “You made breakfast?” Jack asked. He looked surprised, and sat hesitantly across from Numair at the table.

“Eggs, fruit,” Numair muttered, trying not to glare obviously. “Go change, sweet,” he added to Daine. She gave him a warning look, and with a nod to Jack, she left.

“That’s enough,” Numair said flatly as soon as the sounds of her footsteps up the stairs faded.

“What?” Jack asked, reaching for a fork and freezing mid-gesture. He looked ready to bolt.

Numair scowled at him. “I took you in as a guest. You will _stop_ making such comments to Daine,” he said.

Jack stared at him. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“I don’t know what you hope to gain here,” Numair said, low. He was probably overreacting, and Daine could certainly take care of herself. She was not shy about speaking up if she were uncomfortable, and anyway there was very little that would do so, these days. Still, Numair remembered his own school days, when he’d throw such comments around, usually with a particular goal in mind. “Daine isn’t a prize to be stolen.”

 Jack blinked at him. Then something strange happened—his shoulders relaxed, and he took the fork. “What gave you the impression that I was trying to—to _steal_ her?”

“Last night,” Numair growled, not liking Jack’s sudden ease, “and then this morning.”

Jack continued to stare, and then something broke. His face crumpled, and Numair gaped as Jack threw his head back and laughed.

He laughed and laughed, and then he looked at Numair, and kept on laughing, voice cracking into hysteria.

“If you’re quite finished,” Numair seethed, embarrassment coloring his face. He knew he was being an old jealous fool, but he didn’t appreciate the ridicule.

“Oh, oh, it’s been a long time since I laughed that hard,” Jack gasped, still snickering. “You remind me of somebody I once knew, Numair Salmalin. Listen.” He wiped his streaming eyes and leaned forward, all seriousness now, elbow on the table.

“First of all, I have no intention of trying to steal your Daine—and, by the way, she’s quite the catch for you, so congratulations on that. Second of all, you’re right—she isn’t an object to be won or lost. If I really wanted to, I doubt I would have even half a chance. She will refuse to be stolen.” He quirked an odd, almost wistful smile at Numair. “And I can tell just by looking at you, you’re both exclusive. Where I’m from, we throw this sort of thing around. That’s all.” He paused for a moment and then added, “It’s just words, but I’ll try to tone it down, Numair. That’s a promise.”

Numair gave him a long, hard look. _Exclusive_ was an odd way to put it, he supposed, but the statement was not inaccurate. “I’ll trust you on that,” he said, but privately made note that if the man took a step out of line, he would turn him into something unpleasant. A cactus, maybe?

Jack recoiled as though Numair had struck him. “You shouldn’t,” he said shortly. He dropped his eyes.

Numair blinked, wrong footed. He passed him a plate, confused at the abrupt change of tone. “I shouldn’t?” Should he not take Jack at his word? Or had Jack somehow heard his internal threats? They weren’t really heartfelt—Numair didn’t make a habit out of turning people into plants, Tristan Staghorn notwithstanding.

“Bad things happen,” Jack said, taking the plate and not meeting Numair’s eyes, “to people who trust me.”

Before Numair could ponder that somewhat alarming statement, there was a thunk and a thud. He looked up to see Daine jogging down the stairs. His attention effectively stolen away, Numair felt his face light at the sight of her. He greeting her with a grin that was probably very silly, and a plate full of food. “Eggs?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled back and accepted the food, and then sat down next to him, all warm and comforting. Numair tried not to bask too obviously. “There’s a town about two hours down the road,” Daine told Jack. “We can probably get your coat fixed there, and you’ll also need a horse; it’s a bit long to walk all the way to Corus.” Daine lifted a knife and started to cut her breakfast.

“Corus?” Jack asked. He glanced at Numair and then followed Daine’s lead. He speared a piece of fruit to put on his plate.

“The capital,” Numair supplied, filling his own plate. “There’s a castle and a city. If you need a place to stay, we can work something out.”

“A place—to stay?” Jack looked baffled. He hesitated midway through taking an egg. “I—thank you, but I shouldn’t be staying long,” he said, depositing it on his plate. “I’m a bit of a traveler, you see.” He dropped his eyes again and began to cut up the egg. 

Daine swallowed a mouthful of food. “A traveler,” she repeated. Numair felt similarly skeptical. 

Jack shrugged at her, chewing. His face was unreadable.

“I don’t suppose you’re going anywhere particular?” Numair asked. Jack’s earlier warning was ringing like a bell in his ears. What sort of bad things, he wondered.

Jack shook his head, swallowed, and replied, “Just traveling.”

His voice was flat and causal, but Numair recognized that tone. He’d used much the same one, once upon a time. A true traveler, a journeyman, did not sound defeated, the way Jack did. He wasn’t necessarily lying, _per se_ , but he was avoiding something. Was he on the run?

“My town in Galla was destroyed by bandits when I was thirteen. Tortall sort of adopted me,” Daine said casually, before Numair could speak. She’d clearly been thinking along the same lines that he had. Daine was terribly intuitive, even more so than Numair. He glanced at her and quirked a smile; she also knew what it was like to feel lost.

“Me as well,” Numair added, careful to keep the pity out of his voice. “I was hunted by the emperor of Carthak for treason. I lived as a street mage here for years, until the king here found me.”

“Treason?” Jack asked. He sounded amused, for some reason. “I’ve been accused of treason. Committed it, too.” He speared a piece of fruit. “No, I don’t think your country wants me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Numair said. He glanced over to Daine. She had an odd contemplative look on her face. “The Baron of Pirate’s Swoop was the King of the Rogue, once.”

“The king of the what?” Jack sounded incredulous.

“I didn’t know that about George,” Daine said, cutting her eggs.

Numair nodded. “It’s how he met Alanna. He was the king of thieves,” he added to Jack. “Now he’s the King’s Champion’s husband, and Baron.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And the King’s Champion is…?”

“Alanna the Lioness,” Daine said cheerfully, taking another bite of her breakfast. She swallowed and then added, “The first lady knight in centuries. She’s a friend of ours.”

Jack sat back in his chair and looked at them. “So your king has a treasonous mage, a country girl, a lady knight for a Champion and a thief as a Baron.” He quirked a strange sort of smile, as if he wanted to grin but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. “Actually, I might stay here for a while. This place sounds interesting.”

“You have no idea,” Numair said wryly.

They finished breakfast, and Daine collected their plates to clean them. Numair rose to help her, as did Jack, following his lead, but Daine waved them off. “You cooked, and you’re a guest,” she told them, placing the plates near the wash bin. “Go tack Spots. We’ll head into town as soon as I’m done. We can get Jack a horse on the way.” She pulled out a rag.

Numair nodded and gestured to a surprised Jack, who followed him out of the kitchen. “You really don’t need to get me a horse,” Jack said. Numair smiled a little and went downstairs to hold the front door.

“Daine,” he said, amused, when Jack caught up, “has no love of bandits, obviously. There are a few of them living in the woods around the town. They know better than to bother us, as we are employed by the king and they have run into us before with…unpleasant consequences, but this does not stop them from occasionally harrying the town. We’ll get one of _their_ horses.” He smiled and let the door swing closed, and then walked out to the small barn attached to the side of his tower.

Jack stared. He jogged across the grass to keep up. “This is something you’ve done before.”

“All the time, actually,” Numair said. “It’s a service to the town, I think, don’t you?” He loved it when Daine liberated animals from terrible masters. It wasn’t only because she clearly enjoyed it too; it reminded him of Carthak, really, and running away, and being free for the first time in years.

Jack smiled that odd, reluctant smile of his again. “I think I like you, Numair Salmalin.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Numair said mildly, walking into the shadowed, dusty barn. “I did help rescue you from a spidren.”

Jack nodded, following him and blinking to adjust his eyes. “Yes, you did. Thank you, by the way.”

Numair waved his thanks off and went over to see to Spots. The painted gelding picked up his head, looked at Numair, and sighed.

“Sorry, Spots,” he muttered. He turned to talk to Jack, and was surprised when he saw him off to the side, regarding the saddle rack. Jack raised an eyebrow and Numair gestured. “The one on the left,” he said. Jack nodded and lifted it, walking over.

“Thanks,” Numair said and opened the stall door. Spots regarded him with a look on his face that said quite clearly, _must you?_

“Sorry,” he said again, and slung the saddle over the horse’s shoulder. Spots sighed again, more loudly this time.

“Numair,” Jack said very slowly. Numair turned to look at him.

He was leaning with his arm on the stall door, and watching Numair. He looked like he was trying to be casual, but not doing a very good job of it. Jack was tense about the shoulders and his eyes were guarded. “I had—an odd sort of dream, last night.” 

Numair wrinkled his eyebrows, curious at Jack’s caution. “Gainel has been known to send odd dreams,” he replied evenly.

“The god of dreams, I presume,” Jack muttered, almost to himself. Numair inclined his head. Spots considered Jack with one brown eye.

“There was a badger,” Jack added after a long pause. Numair felt his eyes widen. Spots, far cleverer than an average horse through association with Daine, wuffled in surprise. In the next stall over, Cloud lifted her head over the door and pricked her ears forward.

“The badger god?” Numair asked. What could the badger god possibly want with Jack?

Jack looked relieved. “So I’m not losing my mind, then. Because where I’m from, talking to badgers tend to mean insanity.” He quirked his lips in a half-smile.

Numair could not hide his curiosity. Why on earth would the badger visit Jack? “The badger god is actually Daine’s mentor,” he said.

“Yeah, he told me that,” Jack said. “After he got off my chest.”

Numair chuckled, leaning on Spots’ side. He gave Jack his full attention. “Daine says he tends to do that. What did he say?”

“He wanted to strike a bargain. I told him I’d think about it. Uh, Numair—” Jack lunged into the stall and caught Spots’ saddle before it slipped off the horse’s back.

“A bargain? That’s not like him,” Numair said. His thoughts raced. A bargain? Bargains with gods were rarely good, even if the badger god was something of a friend. Bargains like that generally didn't turn out in favor of the mortal who made them.  “What sort of bargain?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. Numair realized he'd not only grabbed with the saddle while Numair had lost himself in thought, but also heaved it back onto Spots' back. Jack took the girth from where it rested on the seat of the saddle and then buckled it. “Just a bargain. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind,” he added in a tone that tried for humorous.

“No, not that I know of.” Numair replied. He dearly wanted to press Jack for more information, but Jack was clearly reluctant, so he refrained. He shooed Jack away from his horse and finished buckling the girth himself. Numair tightened it, offered Spots a bit and led him out of the stall. “But still, the badger hasn’t visited Daine for a while, and it’s odd that he would go to you, no offence meant, of course.”

“None taken,” Jack said, stepping out of the way to allow the large gelding through. He looked at the bridle hanging from Cloud’s stall door thoughtfully, and then picked it up to offer to the pony.

“I wouldn’t—” Numair warned. Cloud’s ears flicked forward, and then went straight back. She snorted.

“Aw, c’mon,” Jack coaxed the pony, who glared at him. “You know, there was once a weevil who would let me pat its head. That’s not common with weevils. Good sort, old Janet.”

Cloud flicked one ear forward and there other one back, regarding him with a sort of bemused scorn.

“What’s a weevil?” Numair asked, halting Spots and looking back at Jack. “The only kind of weevil I’ve ever heard of are insects that eat crops.”

“Hard to pat an insect,” Jack said cheerfully. “You’d squash it.”

Numair chuckled and then heard footsteps behind them. Turning around again, he saw Daine, and he felt his face split into a ridiculous grin. Again. She brought it out in him, really. Spots nickered a greeting, which Daine returned by patting his nose. “Hello, love,” Numair said. “Dishes done?”

“Yup.” She smiled back at him, wide and delighted. Cloud snorted, and Daine turned to regard Jack. “Are you trying to put a bridle on Cloud?” she asked. “She’ll bite you, you know.” The pony huffed and Daine walked over to pluck the bit out of Jack’s hand. “Don’t give me that,” she told Cloud. “Be nice.” She offered the bit over the stall door, and Cloud took it delicately.

Jack shrugged at her. “Thought it would hurry things along. No saddle?”

Daine shook her head and opened the stall door. “I prefer bareback, when I can. Numair’s got the saddlebags for the day.”

She led Cloud out of the stall and mounted easily. Daine always made mounting from the ground look effortless, graceful even. He had never managed that trick, for all that he was much taller than her. He clambered gracelessly onto Spots’ back. Daine gave him a put-upon glance, and Numair replied with a great, silly grin that had her chuckling. Gods, but he did love her, even if his riding skills, or lack thereof, noticeably drove her mad.

He looked down to Jack, who was standing off to the side a little, watching the exchange with an odd, wistful look on his face.

“Right then,” Numair said awkwardly. “Shall we?”

“Lead on!” Daine said. Numair inclined his head, nudging Spots to walk. Jack followed them out of the high roofed barn and into the sunlight.

“So is what Numair says about stealing a horse true?” Jack asked Daine as they headed towards the road.

Daine grinned down at him. “Only if you don’t mind riding a bandit’s horse,” she said. “It might have to be bareback, I’m afraid, unless you want me to go back and get a saddle.”

“That’s alright,” Jack replied. He sounded somewhat bemused. “Although it really has been ages since I was last on a horse.”

“Daine’ll make a horseman out of you, don’t worry,” Numair said. He chuckled when Daine glared at him.

They walked on the road for a short while, silence broken only by the sound of the horseshoes on the cobblestone. Abruptly, Daine pulled Cloud to a stop. Jack glanced at Numair, who nodded at him and looked to Daine.

“Any luck?” asked Numair.

“They’re about half a mile off,” Daine said quietly, almost dreamy. “Actually—” she frowned. “You’ll have a saddle, Jack, but the reins might be broken.”

Numair sighed, recognizing Daine’s tone. This horse was clearly treated badly. It wasn't like he didn't expect it - freeing a badly treated animal was actually the whole point of the exercise - but he knew it still upset her. 

“That’s okay,” Jack said. He still sounded baffled.

“And be nice to him,” Daine added. “He’s had a rough time, and he’ll be tired after running. He says his name is—Red.”

“Okay,” Jack repeated.

Daine nudged Cloud up to a walk, and they followed. “He’ll meet us a little up the road. Come on, then.”

They walked in silence for about a quarter of a mile. Numair regarded Jack from his perch up on Spots. He had his jacket folded over his arm, and he was still wearing those odd clothes from the other day – dark trousers made from a material that Numair did not recognize, strange straps over his shoulders and back, a blue garment that was not a tunic beneath.

He was hiding something, and he was clearly hurting as well. Numair pondered this as they rode, wondering at Jack’s tense posture and set face. He’d recoiled when Numair had mentioned trust. Something must have happened to him, he mused. A dark past. It seemed everyone in Tortall had a dark past.


	6. Six

The trail eventually forked, and they turned a corner. Daine could hear him close; the large, dappled gray gelding stood panting on the side of the road, shadowed by the trees, eyes rolling and fidgeting where he stood. I only just got away, he gasped. They had whips. He shuddered.

You’re safe here, Daine soothed him, sliding off Cloud to tend to him.

The saddle had slipped down under his belly. The reins were not broken, but a little stretched and tied to a splintered tree branch. His sides were slicked with sweat.

“Who names a gray horse Red?” Daine heard Numair ask no one in particular, and heard Jack shift his weight uncomfortably without replying.

Refocusing herself, Daine pulled the tree branch from the reins, and took off the saddle. She ran her fingers through the sweat-soaked dappled hair and then stood next to Red, eyes closed and hand on his withers. The healing magic was simple; a strained tendon here, a few whip marks down his sides, but nothing deep. Red sighed gratefully and stopped fidgeting.

That feels wonderful, he said, although he looked around anxiously. The one on my back was starting to hurt.

Daine smiled at him. You won’t have to worry about that any more. Still…

She frowned again, soothing tired, overused muscles. After a moment, and with a murmur of apology, she put the saddle back on. His sweat had dried, and the gelding informed her that he had not felt this good since he was a foal. Even still, Daine thought guiltily, she was making him work after a long run, never mind what he said. A bit of kindness was not uncalled for.

“I’m leaving the girth loose,” she told Jack, although Red protested that he was fine, “so mind your balance.”

Jack nodded and approached cautiously, clearly unused to large animals. As he came up, he reached out to rest a hand on the horse’s neck. Red snorted in fright and pranced back, rearing a little.

There’s something wrong with him, he cried in Daine’s mind. Daine twisted back to Red, caught up in his sudden fear.

What? Daine asked, alarmed. What’s wrong with him?

The gelding’s nostrils flared and he danced a little, tossing his head. He smells of death, Red panted.

He won’t hurt you, Daine assured him, although she was a little bemused. Jack smelled just fine to her human nose. I won’t let him, she added, because she certainly wouldn’t.

“Is he alright?” Jack asked. He had backed off at Red’s obvious fright. He stood watching the horse with wide eyes, palms held out in a universal sign for peace. “Does he need to cool out before I ride him?”

Daine put a hand on Red’s neck soothingly, translated silently for the horse, and then added, You see? He is concerned for you.

Red snorted and approached Jack warily, sniffing him again. The man held himself very still, watching the great, dark nose quietly. Daine’s impression of Jack, uncertain because animals seemed somehow alarmed in his presence, rose at that.

Very well, Red muttered after a moment. He may ride me. But if anything dies, I’m dumping him.

“You do that,” Daine told him. She smiled at Jack, who was starting to look just as nervous as Red. “He says if anything dies, he’s dumping you.”

Jack quirked his lips, but his eyes were sad. “I’ll keep that in mind. How do I get on if the girth’s loose?” He reached out to tug the hanging, sweat-soaked leather for emphasis. Red snorted at the close contact, but did not bolt.

Daine walked to Red’s other side, touching his shoulder soothingly, and then held down the stirrup. The gelding turned his head to watch Jack with dark, curious eyes. “I’ll hold it steady.”

Jack mounted up, a little clumsily but nowhere near as badly as Numair—which was fair embarrassing, Daine thought with sudden amusement, eyes sliding playfully to him. Numair stuck his tongue out, correctly reading the look on her face. Daine chuckled a little to herself. She checked Jack’s stirrups, approved of their length, and went back to Cloud.

“We’d best get out of here, before they realize they’ve got a horse missing,” Jack said uneasily, shifting his weight a little to adjust. He sat deep in the saddle and Red remarked to Daine, somewhat surprised, that Jack was apparently a more comfortable load than his previous rider, despite the smell.

Daine felt her smile widen wolfishly, and Numair chuckled. “Let them come,” he said.

\---

They reached town unmolested. Jack was impressed despite himself. They dismounted at the town gate on Daine’s request, so she could care for the horses. Numair tilted his head and led Jack through. Jack followed him, and his breath caught as they walked out of the shadows of the wall surrounding the town and into the light.

It was like something out of a renaissance fair.

It was a little town, all cobblestone and thatched roof. They walked down a winding street that opened up into a square, with a small fountain, barely more than a glorified well, in the center. There were stalls around it, rickety and wooden, with brightly colored fabrics strung up on posts above them. There were people in medieval garb, tunics and cloaks and breeches, hustling about in various states of cleanliness, and men and women stood and shouted their wares. It was beautiful, in its own way, and Jack felt an involuntary smile, a true smile, touch his lips.

This was the kind of thing he’d seen back in the halcyon days of traveling with the Doctor. Jack hadn’t stumbled on anything nice like this, not on his own. His smile turned into a delighted grin. This was fantastic. It was absolutely perfect. Humanity, or something like it, at its finest, and it was wonderful.

“Are you alright?” Numair asked. He looked a little bemused.  Jack reflected that the grin on his face probably looked a little demented.

“This is beautiful!” Jack said, unable to quite hide his delight. “I mean it. It’s stunning.”

“Is it?” Numair asked. He surveyed the scene doubtfully. “I was thinking it smelled sort of funny.” He waved his hand in front of his nose, drawing an involuntary laugh out of Jack.

“Thank you,” Jack told him sincerely, and Numair gave him another funny look. “Thank you for bringing me here. You forget…” he stopped himself before he could finish the thought. 

Numair was still regarding him thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but Daine, who strode over to them from a backstreet, interrupted him.

“The tailor's a little ways down the block,” she said. “The horses are in that stable.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Numair’s attention was obviously stolen away, and Jack’s delight condensed into a small, private smile. Numair Salmalin was smitten with his Daine. It was a pity, but it was also sort of endearing. He refused to let himself think about how convenient it was.

“Thanks, magelet. To the tailor’s, then?” Numair walked over to grasp Daine’s hand. The gesture was a familiar one, reminding Jack momentarily of those halcyon days, the man in leather and a blonde girl running and laughing, and Jack just behind. He let himself pretend.

“To the tailor’s,” Jack agreed and gestured for them to lead the way.

The marketplace was quite small, but it was absolutely packed with people. Daine and Numair led Jack out of the crowded street and down another that wound in a strange sort of spiral. Jack enjoyed it all immensely, from the cobblestones to the funny, haphazard little buildings. They turned another corner before Daine stepped forward to knock on a door. A wooden sign hung off a pole above it, with an image of a needle and a curly, stylized thread. Not a moment later, a short, wild-haired woman stuck her head out. Her eyes locked onto Numair and she scowled. 

“Back to squirm on my pedestal, Master Salmalin?”

Daine grinned and winked at Jack, who felt his own lips curl in a smile. “No, sorry, Mistress Carra,” she said. “We’ve got a new customer for you. His coat was burned by a spidren; we were wondering if you could repair it.” She nodded to Jack.

Jack, taking his cue, gave his best charming smile. The woman looked him up and down. She smiled back at him, a little flirtatiously, and shooed the three of them inside her shop. “Let’s see, then,” she said, but as her eyes landed on the ruined coat, her face went serious. “What kind of wool is _that_?”

Frankly, Jack had no idea. It was from Earth, army surplus, circa World War Two, a replacement from Ianto after his first got destroyed. In the war, they had mass produced them, but this place didn’t look like they knew how to do something on that scale.

 “No idea, ma’am,” he said, reluctantly handing over the coat. “I just know it needs to be fixed. For—sentimental reasons.” Jack swallowed. It was partially an act to tug on heartstrings, but it was also quite true. He really did want that damn coat fixed.

The woman grinned. She was missing four teeth. “Ah, I like a sentimental man. Let’s see what we can do, shall we?” She turned from Jack to Numair and her face hardened. “Do you have payment?” she barked.

Numair sighed, although he looked amused. “Mistress Carra, you’ll drain me dry one day. Yes, I’ll be able to pay you when you’re done.” She nodded sharply.

Somehow, that struck Jack all wrong. He'd conned Daine and Numair out of a nice place to stay, and some hot meals. They'd even given him a horse. But he _liked_ them. They were kind, and generous, and he'd been conning them and, now that he was thinking about it, he felt _terrible_ about it.  Slightly horrified, Jack shook his head at Numair. “No, no, Numair. I’ll pay for it.” He wasn't going to con these people out of this, he thought firmly. Room and board was enough. Not the coat. They had been too generous, and Jack abruptly abhorred the idea that he might harm to such genuine kindness.

“Don’t worry about it, Jack,” Numair said. The conman in Jack was telling him that this was too easy to pass up, but Jack did not listen. Besides, he told himself, there was no challenge in taking something so freely given, and where was the sport in that? He might be able to con Carra, though. Actually, that could be an interesting challenge, especially if he showed her the payment before... 

“You saved my life and took me in, and now you’re giving me gifts? Don’t be ridiculous.” He dug into his pocket for something that would look good in a barter.  His fingers touched a computer chip, a ring full of poison, a very small laser gun, some loose ammunition for the old-fashioned Earth-style revolver clipped to his belt, and half of a short-range teleport.

Nothing he could barter with, not here.

“You haven’t got anything,” Daine said gently, touching his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can work for us, or something.”

He was _not_ conning them any more than he had to, Jack thought furiously. He just had to figure this out. Maybe he could pretend the ring was gold? But it was a gamble and he might lose it, if the con didn’t work.

Wait. There was a better option. Oh, it would be much more enticing, especially to an unindustrialized group like this.

“Yes I do,” he said and knelt down to reach his shin. He pulled out a long, thin gun designed to arch lengthwise and clip around his leg.

“What is _that_?” Numair asked, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to know,” Jack muttered, adding to himself, _and I’m not going to tell you_. Very carefully, pointing it down and away from everyone, he tugged on metal plating. It was a laser as well, and inside were three rather sizable diamonds, used to cut the light. Manufactured diamonds were not nearly as rare as planetside ones, and Jack had two other lasers on him, never mind his old revolver. He could get another. Lifting a diamond out of the center of the gun, he held it out to the seamstress. It was the size of the nail on his ring finger. “How’s this?”

All three pairs of eyes bugged. “Done,” said the seamstress.

Jack nodded and tucked the diamond into his pocket. “Now you won’t be charging Numair,” Jack told her firmly, and his voice brooked no argument. Actually, she wouldn’t be charging anyone, if he played this right.  

Reluctantly, she nodded.  Jack nodded back and began to pack up the gun, carefully screwing the metal plating back into the side.

“Come back in three days,” Mistress Carra said, placing Jack’s coat on a hook. “It will take a while to fix; I’ll have to use my Gift.”

Gift? Jack thought in confusion, but Numair interrupted before he could say anything.

“Can you weave spells into it?” he asked. Jack glanced over in surprised alarm, not sure if he liked the idea, but Numair ignored him. “I should think he’ll paid you enough.”

Mistress Carra tilted her head to one side, considering. She raised an eyebrow at Numair.

“Fire retardant,” Numair supplied. “And an anti-damage spell, perhaps.”

That, Jack thought, suddenly understanding, was the best idea he had ever heard. He leaped to his feet, still gripping the half-repaired gun. “And a preservative,” he added, just a little too eager. Three pairs of eyes swung to him. “Something to keep it in good condition,” he amended sheepishly as they all stared at him, “for as long as you can. Can you do an anti-theft spell, too?”

Mistress Carra huffed a little. “Very well. Give me five days, then.”

“He needs a change of clothes as well,” Daine started, but Jack shook his head, though he was sure the diamond would cover it. Jack wanted to be able to leave quickly if he needed to, and that meant packing light. More clothes meant more stuff to carry, and that just wasn’t worth it.

“I’ll wash these,” he assured her.

Daine and Numair looked at him oddly, but Numair said, “Alright.”

Jack nodded and put the gun back together, finally, to put it away. It would work with two diamonds, but the aim would be off, and it would probably only stun, not kill. He clipped it to his leg and then tightened the straps.

“I can strengthen those spells when she returns the coat,” Numair remarked as they left, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Jack glanced over. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been too kind already.” They walked down the cobbled lane. Jack looked at his feet, feeling uncomfortable.

Numair waved him off. “What purpose did that diamond serve in the thing you have strapped to your leg?” he asked instead.

Numair was a sharp one, Jack thought grimly. There was no way that he would divulge that particular information. Anachronistic technology was dangerous. “You don’t want to know,” he told the cobbles. “It’s a nasty thing, and it won’t work now. Just as well, really.”

“You’re not _just_ a traveler, are you?” Daine’s voice was soft, but commanding in a way that made Jack look up ant meet her eyes. She was sharp too, arguably sharper than Numair. God, they’d seen right through him, hadn’t they? How was that even possible?

Damn it all. _Damn_ it _all_. “I’m on the run,” Jack said. He’d underestimated them. He’d mistaken kindness for stupidity, generosity for innocence. Careless. Stupid and careless. He should have known better than to let his guard down. When he let his guard down, _people died._ “That’s all you need to know about me.”

“Jack,” Daine said, and Jack’s heart twisted painfully at the kindness in her voice. “We can help.”

“No, you really can’t,” Jack said. I need to leave, he thought, frightened. I need to leave, before I become attached. “I’ll just wait to get my coat back, and then be on my way. I don’t suppose there are any inns in town?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Numair told him on no uncertain terms. “You’re staying with us.”

Jack looked down again, unable to meet their eyes. They were shrewd, these two. God, he felt winded. They’d seen him. They’d actually seen him. No one had really seen him in ages. “You shouldn’t be this kind." 

“I think that's our choice, not yours,” Numair said, quirking a small smile.

“Fair point,” Jack muttered, and scowled. They were the easiest con he'd pulled in years, he thought grimly. “But I really shouldn’t stay with you.” He could do it, too, so easily, if he wanted to. The thought was appealing. Pleasant company, good food, a soft bed—all at no price, if he played his cards right. He could stay with them for years, playing up the wounded-soldier act. Jack shivered. At least when he had tried to be a hero, he could sleep at night.

Usually.

“Work for us, then,” Daine shrugged. Jack looked at her oddly. The only thing he thought that he could do for them in this world, that didn’t even have engines let alone space travel, with any reasonable amount of skill was—well, enjoyable, really, but it didn’t match up to what he knew about them. Numair probably wouldn’t go for it, would he? Might be fun, he supposed.

“Alright,” he said. “What would you like me to do?”

“Clean Numair’s office,” was Daine’s immediate reply. Numair groaned, and Jack felt hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat. Of course. Of course. He stopped walking and held out a hand, unable to hide the sudden, amused grin on his face. Daine shook it.

“It’s a deal,” he said.


	7. Seven

Three days later, Jack was still working on the office. Daine had not been kidding; the mess was extensive.

It made him think of Ianto, frankly. He tried not to think about Ianto, really, because Ianto was dead and gone and for some reason that wound just wasn’t healing. But Numair’s bright, cluttered office made him think of how Ianto had lived, rather than how he had died and that was—good. Brilliant, beautiful Ianto, who would’ve had the place clean and alphabetized in a half hour flat. He would’ve walked up to Jack, said something witty, and propositioned him. They would have proceeded to spend the rest of the time playing naked hide and seek. Probably Gwen would catch them. A good time would be had by all, anyway.

It hurt to think about, still. But it was a good hurt, in its way.

 “Numair, what the hell is this?” Jack stuck his head out from under the mage’s cluttered desk and muttered, “It looks like the Time Vortex in here.”

Numair, leaning against the doorway, craned his neck over a pile of books to see. “Oh. That. That’s waste disposal.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Jack gave him a disbelieving look. “ _That’s_ waste disposal?”

“Yes. You may not want to stay under there for too long.” Numair grimaced, looking a little anxious.

Jack rolled his eyes, but remained where he was under the wooden desk in the dust. The light pulsated disturbingly behind him. “Have you ever heard of a garbage bin?” he demanded.

“A what?”

Jack got up. Dusting off his knees, he walked over to the other side of the room, where he had been putting all the stuff deemed “waste” by Numair. He picked up a medium-sized log that Numair had been using as a place to stack books, like a strange end table.

Actually, he’d been using it as something to trip over, but that was neither here nor there. “Drill a hole in it,” he told the mage.

Numair blinked at him.

“Hollow it out,” Jack explained, shaking the log a little for emphasis, “and then put your waste disposal inside it, instead of under your desk. That way your feet won’t get disposed, and you have a place to put things.”

“Oh,” Numair said. He took the log and then crouched under his desk. Whispering a few words, he made the blue-and-purple luminous thing disappear from the wall, and reappear on the log. Numair lifted his face from under the desk, and then looked at the log, which was now glowing. “But I’ll trip over it,” he said plaintively.

Jack sighed, put upon. “We’ll put it on something high up.”

Numair frowned doubtfully. “Alright.”

In all honesty, though, this was rather entertaining. Numair, whom Jack had forbidden to help, stood in a corner and cried, “Don’t touch that!” or “You’ll break it!” or “Oh, I’ve been wondering where that was,” while Jack got his hands dirty. As far as jobs went, it was one of the most pleasant that Jack had in ages. Sometimes, Daine even came around and brought food. This whole manservant thing really had its perks, Jack thought wryly, kneeling underneath the desk again. He got food and board, good company, relative safety and no one was getting hurt. It even made him feel less bad about conning them at the start, because at least now he was helping them in some way. It had been a while since he’d been this amused on a harmless job, never mind that it was just cleaning.

“ _Numair!_ ” Daine’s voice came suddenly from downstairs. He and Numair glanced at each other in surprise, and Numair held out a hand to Jack, who was still kneeling under the desk.

“Thanks,” Jack muttered, taking the offered hand, and coming to his feet. Numair smiled in response and then bounded over to the stairwell.

“Is everything alright, sweet?” Numair called down as they reached the landing. Daine, standing at the bottom, looked grim. A raven perched on her fist, and she had a scroll of some kind in her hand. No paper, Jack thought, amused. Of course not.

“Bad news from Ouna,” Daine called back up. “Something’s happened on the road to Corus.”

“Isn't she on her way back from Galla?” Numair asked, beckoning to Jack as they walked down the stairs. Jack glanced at him, wondering who Ouna was, but he followed anyway.

“Yes, near where I met you. Here, have a look.” She passed Numair a scroll when he got close enough.

Numair frowned, reading the letter. Jack stepped down the last stair and walked over, trying and failing to read over his shoulder. The man was just too tall, Jack thought wryly.

 “This is something we should go and see,” Numair said, looking up. “We should tell the king as well. He won’t be pleased.”

“What is it?” asked Jack, trying to see without being obvious about it. They both looked at him. There was a beat.

“It might be a new Immortal,” Numair said finally, passing the scroll to him.

The scroll was parchment and yellowed, heavier than paper, and it curled around the edges. Jack smoothed it out, and a hastily sketched drawing at the bottom caught his eye before the written message did. He glanced at it first and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He had to stop himself from gasping in horror.

“Oh, no.”

\---

Jack’s face had gone white, and his eyes widened in what looked like recognition. Daine blinked in surprise. “Have you seen anything like it?” she asked. Blackfeather, the raven on her fist, was a warm weight, and he shifted with Daine’s discomfort.

It took Jack a moment to respond, as though he had to drag himself out of whatever world he’d gotten lost. “Yes. I have,” he said, sounding angry or frightened or both. “That’s a weevil.”

“A what?” Daine said, not expecting that answer. Weren’t weevils insects that infected crops?

“A weevil,” Jack said, now glancing at the written part of the message. “It looks like a weevil. They live in sewers, eat detritus and things like that, but every so often one goes rogue and wants meat.” He scowled, skimming Ouna’s note.

“You said something about them before,” Numair said carefully. Daine met his eyes. He shook his head slowly, and Daine took it to mean that Jack hadn’t told him anything, and he hadn’t asked.

Jack gritted his teeth and passed the note back, but he didn’t meet Daine’s eye. “Yes. I used to—” he paused, as if the words were painful to say. “I used to catch them,” he finished flatly.

That did not sound good. “What did you do with them?” Daine asked. She accepted the letter back uneasily, and Blackfeather looked at her with his sharp black eyes, ruffling his feathers. She patted his wing, and the raven was soothed.

“We used to kill them, at first,” Jack said, and he looked at the raven, not Daine. “Then I was in charge, and we just detained them. Sometimes we’d put a sort of tracking device on them, see where they went. Sometimes we studied them.” His face had gone clear of all emotion, his eyes distant.

“We ought to inform the king,” Numair said. He held out his hand. Daine gave him the letter, and he skimmed it for the second time. “And then I believe we should go out and track this thing.” He looked up, patted Jack’s shoulder. “Since it seems we have someone with experience.”

For a moment, Jack looked ill. Then he seemed to steel himself.  He nodded. “Yeah, we should probably get it off the streets. Or out of the woods, as the case may be.” He straightened, all business now.

“That’s settled then,” Numair said, making to go back into his office. “I’ll get some more parchment. Love, will you ask your friend to deliver it to the king?”

Daine nodded. She stroked Blackfeather’s soft tail. Will you take another letter? Daine asked him.

Gladly, the raven replied, preening a wing feather proudly. Why does the wrong man stand like that?

Wrong man? Daine asked.

Him. The bird nodded at Jack, who had not moved. He was standing stock still, watching Numair go up the stairs. He looked a thousand miles away.

“Jack?” Daine said tentatively. His shoulders tensed. He suddenly looked brittle, like he might shatter. After a beat, he seemed to shake himself, and he turned to her and smiled charmingly.

“I don’t suppose I’ll get to finish Numair’s office, then,” Jack told her, all good humor. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll finish eventually,” Daine said, a little thrown by the abrupt about face. She stroked Blackfeather thoughtfully. Jack had relaxed, but something about his smile was still wrong. “Are you alright? You look sick.”

“Fine,” Jack replied, but his eyes were flat and expressionless. “If you don’t mind I’d—like to go groom Red,” he said awkwardly, and almost ran out the door when Daine nodded.

Daine watched him go. Numair thudded back down the stairs, holding a new scroll and a quill. He came up to her, smiled, and swiftly scribbled a message to the king before handing it to Daine. She smiled back, blew on the wet ink to dry it, and then gave it to Blackfeather.

To the castle in Corus, she instructed the bird. The man with the crown—our king. Blackfeather gave a raspy caw in agreement and took the letter, leaping from her shoulder to fly out the window. Daine turned to Numair, who was still smiling at her warmly. She leaned into his hand when he tucked a curl behind her ear. Then he blinked a little and looked around.

“Where’d Jack go?” Numair asked after a moment, as though just realizing that Jack had vanished. Daine shrugged.

“He said he was going to groom Red,” she told him. “He looked upset at the mention of these weevils, Numair.”

Numair frowned. “I think,” he said slowly, tugging Daine’s hand to lead her to a couch, “that this is something he’ll tell us, in time.”

“I doubt it,” Daine replied, sitting next to him and leaning on his shoulder. “I feel like he’s just going to run off after we get his coat back.”

Numair shook his head, wrapping an arm around her. “Pain like that eventually spills over, especially if it’s confronted. These weevils may be just the thing for our mysterious friend.”

“You think he is a friend, then? He’s been good to us, but it’s only been a few days. He keeps saying what a terrible person he is.” Daine knew what that was like. She’d believed it of herself, not so long ago. Numair rested his chin on her hair thoughtfully.

“I think—” he said after a moment. “I think, if we can manage it, that our Captain Jack Harkness is going to be a good friend to have.”


	8. Eight

Leaning on Red’s stall door in Daine and Numair’s little barn, their Captain Jack Harkness was having trouble breathing.

Weevils. How could it possibly be weevils? He was a million, million miles away.  He was so far away, there weren’t even units for it; he was almost in a damned different universe. How could Torchwood follow him this far? Over the last however-long-it-had-been, he’d worked very hard to forget.

“We used to catch them, you know,” he told Red quietly as he gathered himself and picked up a curry comb. The horse pricked his ears forward as Jack opened the stall door and went inside. Red apparently liked the sound of a human voice. Daine had said that he enjoyed the conversation. “I used to like it, more than I probably should have. The adrenaline was fun, it was a good rush, and—” Jack took a breath, laying a hand on the dappled gelding’s warm neck. “Always weevils. Always. A hundred years, and there were always weevils running around the sewers in Cardiff.”

The horse nickered a little and watched him with bright eyes. Jack started to brush the comb in short, c-shaped strokes, as Daine had shown him the other day.

“They’re all dead,” he whispered, staring at the white and gray hairs of Red’s coat. “I couldn’t stay. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t look her in the eye, not—when she was—” God, it hurt even to think her name. Jack closed his eyes and breathed for a long moment.

Wait. His breath hitched.

He stopped brushing, realizing abruptly that this was not a safe outlet for his grief. “And Daine can talk to animals,” he told the horse flatly. Red huffed and placed his dark, soft nose over Jack’s heart. “I’m getting sentimental in my old age,” Jack muttered wryly, and continued to brush him in silence.

Red stood patiently, head craned around, the better to watch Jack with his soulful eyes. Jack had never really had a horse, not even in the 1870s, when he was first stranded on Earth. He’d always rented them or borrowed them or stolen them, and then let them race off. He hadn’t taken the time to learn to care for one.

He supposed Red wasn’t really his. Daine had stolen him, after all. Nevertheless, this whole brushing thing was soothing. It was mindless, but it eased a little of the sorrow, because Red was there. Red couldn’t speak, except to Daine, but he watched Jack anyway, nickering sometimes when he scratched an itchy spot.

“You’re a good-natured fellow, you know,” Jack told him, starting on his other side, “for a bandit’s horse.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t get attached. I’m not going to be here long.” Red flicked one ear forward and the other back. Jack continued, “But I suppose Daine’ll take care of you when I’m gone. That’s certainly something.”

The horse lipped his sleeve. Jack smiled weakly and left the stall, going up to a shelf where Daine always kept treats. Today he found a carrot, which he brought back and offered to him over the stall door. Red took it delicately and munched. Jack watched him chew, leaning an elbow on the stall door.

The barn was quiet, save for Cloud and Spots rustling their hay and Red crunching on his carrot. Then Jack heard the hinges on the front door squeak. Cloud whinnied.

“Hello, Daine,” Jack greeted with a sigh, eyes fixed on Red.

“Hello,” Daine said.  Jack could hear the sound of the hay under her feet as she walked over.  Red snorted, moving away from Jack. He swung his big head around, nickering a greeting to Daine.

Daine walked over to pat Red’s nose. “You’ve been in here for hours, you know. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Jack hid a scowl. The whole point of being in here was so he did not have to talk to anyone. He nudged Red’s nose aside and went back into the stall to attack the gelding’s side with a hard-bristled brush. “I’m fine,” he said, forcing his voice to at least sound slightly cheerful.

“Sure,” Daine replied, clearly not fooled. She pulled out a currycomb of her own and walked into Cloud’s stall across the way. “What can you tell me about weevils?”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, his back to Daine. He collected himself. Surely he could at least do facts, couldn’t he? He took a breath. “Six feet high, teeth like a shark, rippled skin, rage like a wild animal. I don’t know if you’ll be able to talk to them,” he added. “We never really found out that much about them. They’re scavengers, I think, and they respond to—” he paused. “Well, I don’t really know what they respond to.”

Daine turned around in Cloud’s stall to look at Jack. “How d’you mean respond?” Her gray pony regarded him over her shoulder.

Oh, that was tricky. Jack rubbed at a speck of dirt on Red’s hide thoughtfully. “Where I lived,” he said, tiptoeing around the twist his heart gave at even the thought Torchwood. Why, after all this time, why wouldn’t the wound heal?  He managed to push through, saying, “weird things tended to happen. Long story short, one of my friends became, as he called it, ‘king of the weevils.’” He smiled wistfully at Red’s gray mane.

“King of the Weevils?” Daine asked. Jack could hear the capitals in her voice. He held back a sad chuckle.

“Don’t know why, though,” Jack told her. It was a half-truth. He knew it had to do with Death and that glove that had brought Owen back to life, although he didn’t know why or how. God, poor Owen. “But they all kind of bowed and moaned when he got too close.”

“That _is_ strange,” Daine said, brushing Cloud’s neck thoughtfully. “Did he have wild magic?”

“No,” Jack said. He regarded her over Red’s back. Best to keep it simple. “They communicated through a low-level telepathic field,” he said. Best not to think about Owen, either. “They were all connected, so they knew when one of their own was in trouble. They were nasty when they went rogue, or when they were scared. Would go straight to the jugular,” he said, tapping his neck. “We used to subdue them with a spray and a tranquilizer, but you don’t have either here.”

“Could you make one?” Daine asked. Jack shook his head, before realizing belatedly that Daine was brushing Cloud and couldn’t see him.

“I haven’t got the tools,” he said. “Or the parts. Or anything, really. We’ll have to do it the old fashioned way, and see if you’ll be—” and here wry laughter bubbled in his chest, because Owen would’ve loved this—“queen of the weevils.”

Not that Owen would’ve stood a chance any more than Jack did. Daine was obviously smitten with her Numair, and vice-versa, for that matter. He would’ve tried to use it, though, the bastard. Daine was quite beautiful.

God, he missed Owen Harper, even if the man had been a pain in the ass. He hadn’t thought of him in so long. Poor, wounded Owen, who was dead and didn’t stay that way. Jack hadn’t done right by Owen, though he’d found a way to die in the end. Jack felt the pain in his gut. There was no pushing it back now.

… and Toshiko, brilliant, technical minded Tosh, who’d loved Owen, even though he had hardly acknowledged her existence. And Ianto, of course, and even Susie, who’d gone mad.

Only Gwen left, now, and Jack missed her so much that if he let himself think about it, he felt breathless.

Never mind Gwen, it was Torchwood he missed, like a limb, like a heart. It was the wound that wouldn’t heal. It just _festered_. It made him feel ill, how badly he missed it. Running after whatever poor bastard the Rift dumped, removing people’s memories, being surrounded by people he honestly loved, saving the world, the rush of it. He’d enjoyed it too much, in the end, Jack thought bitterly, scratching viciously at another piece of dirt stuck in Red’s hair.

“I don’t really like the idea,” Daine was saying over Jack’s melancholy thoughts. “I’d rather be friends with the People, not their queen. That’s Thayet’s job,” she said lightly.

“Thayet?” Jack asked weakly. He backtracked in their conversation. He’d completely lost the plot for a minute there. Jack clenched his fist, pulling himself out of the mire of his memories. Here and now. Here and now, he was in a barn with sunlight slanting through the high windows, with a beautiful woman and a great soft horse. He looked up from Red’s hide and saw Daine looking at him over Cloud’s back.

“The Queen of Tortall,” she said.

\---

He is so sad, Red told Daine as she spoke to Jack. His voice was breathless, rapt. He is _so_ sad.

“Ah,” Jack responded, and then added lightly, “no aspirations to becoming Queen Weevil yourself, then?”

“Mithros, no,” Daine said. “Have you ever seen the amount of paperwork that a king and queen have to handle? I’ll stay the Wildmage, thanks.” Cloud snorted in amusement.

That would never work, she said. I cannot climb stairs, and the Horse Lords know you’d never be able to do anything interesting without me.

Daine smiled and patted her pony’s neck.

Jack quirked a reluctant half-smile. This one seemed real, not like the charming grins he’d been flashing all morning. “The days of paperwork. I remember those. One of the nice parts of traveling is that there isn’t any paperwork. At least, not for me.”

“Lucky you,” Daine told him, leaning an arm on Cloud’s back. The pony huffed and gave up on the brushing, returning to munch on her hay. Daine was only here on the pretext of brushing Cloud, and she knew it. “After the Immortals War, I feel like that was all I ever did.” You didn’t like him before, Daine added to Red silently.

Fickle, Cloud scoffed, chewing on her oats. Daine rolled her eyes.

Red ignored the pony and thought for a moment, lipping Jack’s sleeve contemplatively. Jack pushed his nose away, but it was in play. He is kind, the horse said. He smells of death, but I think that is because everyone around him dies. He misses his friends.

You’ve been spending too much time around me, Daine said regretfully. Animals who spent too long with her tended to develop a more human outlook on life. Red, it seemed, was particularly susceptible; after three days, he had learned to look beyond the way a person smelled. Daine would have to keep her distance—she would do Red no favors, changing the way he thought like that.

“Immortals War?” Jack had asked. His voice had turned oddly wary. Daine blinked and switched her focus from the horses to the two-legger. He was suddenly stiff.  That was odd.

“A few years ago,” she replied, “the Barrier between our realms and the Realms of the Gods, where the Immortals were trapped, fell. You must remember; it happened all over the world. Creatures like the spidren that almost killed you came through. We call them Immortal here, because they won’t ever die unless someone takes the effort to kill them.”

“I see,” Jack muttered, relaxing. Why had that answer reassured him? “So you think that weevils might be a kind of Immortal?”

Daine shrugged. “Are they?”

“Not that I know of,” Jack said. “We didn’t have creatures like that where I lived. Are there many more of them?” He walked away from Red’s side and came over to lean on the stall door. Red huffed a little and rested his nose on Jack’s shoulder. He rolled his shoulder playfully, and Red lipped his sleeve.

“Oh, yes,” Daine replied, a little perplexed. She’d thought that the Immortals were worldwide; perhaps they were not. Where could Jack have come from, if he’d never heard of them before? “Most of them are mythical, some of them the myths couldn’t even describe. Some of them are nice, like unicorns, griffins, or basilisks, but a lot of them are like the spidrens. There are Stormwings, which are people crossed with metal birds – they’re like vultures, they feed off fear and wars. There are flesh-eating unicorns and centaurs, as well as nice ones; Coldfangs, which guard things and hunt thieves…” her voice trailed. Jack’s eyebrows had risen to his hairline.

“I think you guys have it worse than we did,” he said. “You have unicorns?” he added, after a pause. “Really?”

“Sure,” Daine said. “They’re shy, though – you don’t see them often.”

“I’m sure you see the flesh eating ones more than you’d like,” Jack said. He scratched Red’s cheek, eyes averted.

“Yes,” Daine agreed. “But it’s not all bad. Wait till you meet Kit.” She smiled, both proud and wistful. She missed her charge.

“Kit?” Jack asked.

Daine’s smile widened. “Kitten,” she elaborated, and Cloud snorted. “Well, her real name’s Skysong – I’m her guardian. She’s a dragon.”

“ _You_ have a _dragon_?” Jack blurted. He blinked, then seemed to collect himself.

“She’s just a baby,” Daine said, amused by his sudden outburst. “Her ma was killed by Carthaki raiders a week after she was born. I took her in, at her ma’s request. She’s with Tkaa now – he’s a basilisk, and he was going to teach her some spells, and give me’n Numair some time off. She’s a handful,” Daine added affectionately.

“I can imagine,” Jack said. “A baby dragon. This place is _amazing_.” He let out a breath. “I had a pterodactyl, once,” he said, as though confiding a secret.

“ _Seriously?_ ” He had to be lying. There was no way he could have. Surely he was lying. Daine couldn’t keep the delight from her tone, though. She had liked the dinosaurs. “There were a bunch of dead ones, in Carthak, but I couldn’t reach them. Where on earth did you find it?”

Jack looked at her oddly. “Couldn’t reach them?”

“Daine,” Numair announced, walking into the barn. Jack jumped in surprise. “Once brought back an entire army of dinosaurs in order to destroy the emperor of Carthak.” Daine shifted her weight, embarrassed.

But an odd look stole over Jack’s face. He relaxed from the tense stance he’d taken at Numair’s unexpected voice. “Brought back?”

“The gods were angry,” Daine said. It was still embarrassing. She had definitely overreacted. “The Graveyard Hag had given me the power to bring dead things back to life. I thought they’d killed Numair. _I_ was angry,” she added, and glanced at Numair. He smiled.  

“So you brought back a bunch of dinosaurs,” Jack murmured. “Remind me never to annoy you. How—how did—?”

“Numair had a simu-thing, so they killed it instead of him,” Daine said. She opened the door to Cloud’s stall and stepped out to kiss Numair’s cheek in greeting. Jack still looked confused.

“A simulacrum. It’s like a puppet, or a dummy that has my features. The Hag took the power away from Daine, afterward,” Numair explained, and Jack nodded, understanding.

“It was fair creepy, really. But how did you get one?” Daine asked Jack eagerly. She looped an arm through Numair’s, but fixed her eyes on Jack.

“One what?” Numair asked. He was warm against Daine’s side, and he let her tuck herself in close.

“He said he had one of those flying lizards!”

Numair blinked at her and then swung his eyes to Jack.

“Pterodactyl,” Jack supplied. He wasn’t looking at them. He stroked Red’s cheek.

“What, really?” Numair said.

“Like Lindhall’s Bonedancer,” Daine said, unable to quite stop her enthusiasm. “How did you get one?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jack muttered. He turned away from Red and opened the stall door. “I needed a guard dog, and Myfanwy was the best. Seriously, she’d eat anything with barbecue sauce on it.” He stepped out and closed the door. He still wouldn’t meet Daine’s eyes.

She saw the sorrow in him, and she knew what had happened to the poor lizard without him saying anything. She felt a pang of sympathy. “She died, didn’t she?”

“In an explosion,” Jack sighed. He looked down at his feet and hunched over a little, as though he regretted saying anything. Daine regretted bringing it up. Horse Lords, but Red was right. Jack was so sad. She saw it, now. He was hurting terribly.

“I’m sorry,” Numair said. Jack shook himself, as if dispelling grief like water.

“But you were telling me about your dragon,” he said with forced cheer. “You said she was with a _basilisk_? Don’t they petrify people with their eyes?”

“They can turn things to stone,” Numair agreed, letting Jack change the subject. “But only with a spell. Tkaa’s a friend. Why would they use their eyes?”

“There were these books where I lived,” Jack said. He seemed to pull himself together, drawing good humor like armor around him. The transformation was so subtle and complete that Daine almost missed it. “There was a basilisk in one. It was a giant snake?”

“A giant _snake?_ ” Daine asked, still feeling puzzled. “He looks more like a lizard, really.”

“Might I suggest moving this conversation to the dining room?” Numair said plaintively. “It’s dinner time, I’m hungry, and it’s Daine’s turn to cook.”

The statement seemed to startle a chuckle out of Jack. “All is revealed! That’s why you came looking for us.”

Numair shrugged. “I also don’t like you sneaking around with my Daine,” he said loftily and began to lead the way out of the barn. Daine rolled her eyes. Jack smiled back at her, sharing the joke. 

“Run away with me,” he said to Daine as they followed Numair out of the barn. “I can show you the stars.”

“In your dreams,” Daine said. She reached out to take Numair’s hand.  She was playing with Jack but reassuring Numair, too. “And Numair knows the stars better than anyone I know.” Numair smiled warmly down at her.

“There now, that’s settled,” Jack told him. He turned back to Daine. “Although there’s no way he knows the stars better than I do. That’s just impossible.”

Numair raised an eyebrow at the challenge and Daine chuckled. “Would you care to bet on that, Captain Harkness?”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Jack said, holding open the barn door. “I may not know your constellations, but I do know more about the individual stars than you can imagine. Can I cook dinner? It’s been a while.”

“Of course,” Daine said, not a little relieved. She disliked cooking, although she was perfectly capable of doing it. She and Numair alternated meals to be fair, because neither of them really enjoyed it. “By all means. How do you know about the individual stars?”

“I’m a traveler, aren’t I?” Jack said. “I’ve been all over. Everyone has different mythology.”

“And you must know a great deal of it.” Numair sounded fascinated. “Shall we forgo a formal dinner and eat out on the balcony? I can tell you some of our mythology, Jack, if you tell us some of the things you’ve learned.”

Daine grinned. “I like that idea! What d’you say, Jack?”

“Sounds good,” Jack agreed.


	9. Nine

These people. They got right under his skin. It had only been four days, but he liked them. He really, honestly liked them. Jack felt his good mood return after his conversation with Daine. Mentioning poor Myfanwy had been good in a way he couldn’t quite define. He felt himself smiling, genuinely smiling, for the first time in ages. He’d been willing to _cook_ , for god’s sake.

Dinner was rather clumsy on his part, as he didn’t know where they kept anything or what they had, and he’d had to go downstairs and actually pluck some vegetables, but it was worth it in the end. He made them as close an approximation to pizza he could make with some of their leftover bread dough. He made it sound like a tall tale, like a great game, telling them grandly that he had lived off this kind of thing for years, which was not exactly a lie. It was a surprisingly big hit, even if it turned out to be little more than slightly overcooked bread with chunks of tomatoes and small amounts of Tortall’s strange version cheese on top. After the meal, they sat under the stars. Daine curled up against Numair and demanded a story.

Jack looked up and, with a bit of squinting and approximating, found a star he thought might’ve been Scharta, and spun them a yarn he’d heard in the training barracks in the Time Agency, long ago. He even managed to find two stars that _might_ have been part of the constellation Orion, as seen from Earth, though of course it was a different angle and probably distorted by the pocket universe thing anyway. In return, Numair pointed out constellation after constellation, telling tales about gods and goddesses.

Jack had not felt this peaceful in ages. It was a mistake and he knew it but it was by far the most enjoyable night he’d spent in a long, long time.

\---

The next day, Daine ushered Numair and Jack out of the house to go back to town for Jack’s coat. She and stood over Jack’s shoulder as he tacked Red, just to be sure.

“I do actually know how to put a saddle on a horse,” Jack complained with a good-natured smile as he picked up Red’s bridle and placed it against the gelding’s lips. His finger slipped into Red’s mouth to force it open, and Red sighed gustily but took the bit.

“Yes, but you don’t need to force him,” Daine said, tapping Jack’s arm. “Red’s good, he’ll take the bit.”

“Oh.” Jack looked sheepish. He patted Red’s neck. “Sorry.”

He does not know what he is doing, Red agreed, more amused than annoyed. Tell him that his finger tastes bad, and that I shall bite him if he does it again.

You won’t really bite him, Daine said wryly. A smile threatened at the corner of her mouth, but she tried to keep a straight face so as not to confuse Jack.

No. But it is good if he thinks so. Red regarded her with a twinkling brown eye.

Daine lost the battle and laughed. “He says he’ll bite you if you stick your finger in his mouth again, because it tastes bad,” she told Jack. He chuckled.

“Tell him if he bites me, I’ll have him whipped,” Jack replied lightly. He lifted a saddle from the rack.

Daine dutifully translated, making sure to add that Jack was teasing. In reply, Red leaned over and very gently bit Jack’s sleeve. Jack, saddle slung on his arm, reached up and yanked on the horse’s mane.

“Mithros, you’re both like little kids!” Daine said, still chuckling. She helped Jack with the saddle, and then went over to her own mount.

He is a bad influence, Cloud commented as Daine hopped nimbly onto her back, without a saddle of her own. Behind her, she heard Spots telling Numair to hurry up as though the mage could hear him.

You like him, Daine told Cloud, taking the reins.

Cloud snorted but did not reply.

They rode out in good spirits, although it was clear that Jack did not quite remember how to ride a horse. Last time, Red had been excited to be free of the bandits and had not been bothered by Jack’s poor seat; Daine had been more concerned with the horse’s health than anything else. Now, Red complained with good humor to Daine about Jack’s seat and posture, and Daine called out to him, trotting round and round in circles on Cloud.

Numair rolled his eyes. “She’ll be correcting you the whole way there,” he said, and Jack smiled.

“Will she, now?” He seemed to remember more than he let on, because his right foot slid back and urged Red to canter from a walk. Red, despite his complaining, was up for the run and leaped forward with a delighted snort. Numair groaned and Daine laughed as they raced until the horses tired, and then walked for the rest of the way.

Jack seemed just as impressed with the little town as he was before, beaming over the stalls and the mongers. Daine wondered at that – surely the man had seen towns before? But Jack acted like the mundane market was a king’s palace, eyes wide and childlike. Now that his horse was in good health, they rode to the tailor.

He looked profoundly relieved when Mistress Carra bustled out, holding his coat. Daine was impressed; it looked new, and the hole in the back had disappeared without a trace.

“It gave me some trouble, this did,” the old woman fussed, tugging Jack onto her pedestal and then placing the coat onto his shoulders. “Oddest wool I’ve _ever_ come across. Right then, Captain Harkness, this here’s got a fire retardant and protection against damage, as well as an anti-theft. The amount of magic I poured into it, it should last damn near a hundred years. It’s your grandchildren’s problem, now.”

For a moment, Jack’s shoulders tensed visibly. Odd sort of thing to make a person uncomfortable. Daine’s heart went out to him, but she glanced at Numair, who had also apparently noticed.  They exchanged a puzzled look.

“Thank you, Mistress Carra, you’re a doll,” Jack replied, recovering. He seemed to deliberately loosen the set of his shoulders. His smile was wide, charming, and did not reach his eyes.

“I’m a _what_?”

“A darling, a marvelous woman,” Jack fixed that sun-bright smile at her, and she patted his cheek. There that smile was clearly faked, Daine thought, but Mistress Carra seemed delighted.

“Such a nice boy! No idea where you found this one,” she shot to Daine and Numair. Daine held back a chuckle and rolled her eyes at Numair, who glared. Numair hated the tailor and the fuss, but particularly the pins. Mistress Carra, short tempered at the best of times, was notorious for being unpleasant, especially if her customers flinched the way Numair did. How Jack had charmed her was completely beyond Daine, especially because he was so obviously faking. Surely anyone could see that? “Mithros knows, so few nice boys these days.” She smoothed the coat over Jack’s shoulders.

Jack’s reaction was sudden and violent.  He sucked in a sharp breath, and cringed hard enough to lose his balance, staggering off the pedestal and almost falling to the ground. Daine took a step towards him, hand held out to catch him, but he flinched from her too. He managed to catch himself against the far wall with one hand, breathing hard.

Mistress Carra frowned, hand still outstretched to the place where Jack had been. Jack laughed nervously from the other side of the room. “Sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed. “My old dead Ma used to do that.”

Mistress Carra forgave him instantly, crooning over him like a lost child, but Daine and Numair shared another glance. That lie was a good one, but they both saw it. No one reacted that way to the memory of an old dead Ma.

“We ought to get going, Jack,” Numair said after a log, awkward moment. Mistress Carra scowled from where she’d been cooing over Jack. “We need some fruit and fish from the market for dinner tonight.”

“That raven should be coming back from Corus today as well,” Daine added.

 “Alright,” Jack said easily, and winked flirtatiously at Mistress Carra as he walked around the pedestal and towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said, and the old woman giggled.

“Oh, hold on, Captain Harkness,” she fluttered, rushing to the back. “I have something for you!”

Daine and Numair raised their eyebrows at Jack, who shrugged. The three of them stood a little awkwardly at the door. Mistress Carra’s voice floated from the back room.

“You said you didn’t need any more clothing, but I just couldn’t resist!” She rushed back to the front, carrying a bundle. “Here. Some tunics and breeches; you can’t walk around in your odd clothes all the time, although,” she giggled like a little girl, “you do look quite dashing. Here.” She thrust the bundle into Jack’s confused arms.

“Thanks?” Jack said, looking utterly perplexed.

“Now off you go! If you ever need any repairs, do come back!” She waved him off, and then with a glare at Numair, she bustled to the back of her shop.

“Wow,” Daine said as they left and began to untie their horses. “I’ve never seen her so happy.” Something niggled at the back of her mind. There was something odd, something wrong. Jack’s reaction on the pedestal had been real, but he’d used it to cover something else up. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.

“She’s hated me for as long as I can remember,” Numair added, leading Spots away from the post. He seemed… amused, by something. When Daine glanced at him quizzically, he winked.

“Well,” Jack said,. “I suppose I will blend in better this way. But they don’t go with the coat at all.” He juggled the bundle in his arms with Red’s reins

“The coat! Right,” Numair said. He stopped and looked back at Jack. “Would you like me to strengthen those spells for you?”

Jack blinked and looked at him for a moment, puzzled, but then his face lit with understanding. Daine saw the transformation: the smile was real, now. “Yes, please!” Jack said, leading Red over. “Especially the damage-proofing one, if you could.”

“You want it to last _more_ than a hundred years?” Daine asked, amused. Mistress Carra had always had a gift for overstatement. Jack’s response surprised her, though, because it was utterly sincere.

“Yes. Yes, please, as long as you can make it last,” he said earnestly. “I—I want this coat to outlive me.” Jack’s tone was oddly wistful.

“That’ll take a bit of power,” Numair said. “I’ll do it when we return to the tower, alright? I can key it to you, if you want – so it’ll decay when you die.”

 “Better not,” Jack said darkly.

“He’s right,” Daine told Numair. “That’s a big spell, Numair. You’ll drain yourself.” Jack nodded a little to himself, as though expecting this reasoning.

“We’ll see when we get back,” Numair shrugged. Daine frowned at him unhappily. If Numair thought it was some sort of ridiculous challenge—

What is wrong? Red asked as they led their horses back to the market.

The stork-man is being stupid, what do you think? Cloud scoffed back.

He wants to put his magic into Jack’s coat, to make it last all of Jack’s life, Daine explained. I’m worried that he’ll exhaust himself.

He won’t just exhaust himself, Cloud said. Her hooves clopped on the cobblestones as they approached the market, loud in Daine’s ears. He’ll kill himself. Jack is immortal.

What? Daine stopped walking and stared at her pony. “That’s impossible,” she said aloud. Numair and Jack stopped.

“Sweets?” Numair asked. Jack looked back at her, one eyebrow raised in a question. Spots and Red looked back at her solemnly.

“Cloud’s being impossible, that’s all,” Daine told them, tugging Cloud to walk. The pony snorted, but strolled forward without protest.

I am not, she said. Daine. He _came back to life._ I could smell it.

Death surrounds him, Red put in uncomfortably. The stork-man should not risk it.

“What are you arguing about?” Jack asked.

“Nothing,” Daine said quickly. You’ve made him suspicious, she scolded, and Red looked ashamed.

Tell him I’m sorry, the big gray horse sighed. Jack should not be sadder than he already is.

“Red says you shouldn’t be sad,” Daine told Jack, puzzled by the whole conversation. “I don’t know what that means, but that’s what he says.”

Jack looked startled. He turned to look up at the large gray horse. Red pricked his ears at Jack and huffed gently in his face, a fond gesture. “Thank him for his concern, but I’m fine.” He patted the gelding’s nose.

He’s lying, Red murmured, pressing his chin into Jack’s palm.

He always lies, Spots put in.

Daine shrugged at Jack, who looked curious, although Daine did not answer the question on his face. He did not need to know what the horses were saying, not yet, anyway.

This will end badly, Cloud told Daine darkly. I just know it will.

\---

They returned to Numair’s tower to find a goshawk sitting on the roof of the tower. It glided down as they put the horses away and landed on Daine’s outstretched arm, thrusting its leg forward. Numair watched it with interest.

“I guess the king got our message,” he commented as Daine untied the missive.

“He says,” she murmured as she skimmed the letter, “That he apologizes to interrupt our much-needed vacation—of course—and that he _would_ like us to go and investigate. It isn’t like Ouna to be so afraid, and Thayet trusts her judgment. He also says that we’re observing only, and he would prefer if we didn’t interfere in any way with Gallan politics.” Her voice had turned sarcastic.

“No destroying palaces,” Jack joked. Numair chuckled a little and strolled to Daine to read over her shoulder.

“He’s also interested in you, Jack,” she said, capturing Numair’s hand in her own and keeping it. “He wants us to bring ‘our experienced friend’ back up to Corus as soon as we’ve found one of those weevils. He probably wants us to give him a briefing,” she added, and made a face. Numair laughed outright and rubbed her hand with his thumb.

“In front of all the stuffy nobles?” he said, grinning at the look of horror on Daine’s face.

“Probably,” she said, handing him the letter. He took it and re-read it, humming a little. It certainly sounded like an adventure, Numair thought. Another adventure. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He glanced at Jack.

“I’m not thrilled with the idea, myself,” Jack was saying uneasily, shifting his weight. “I would rather not get involved with your government, if it’s all the same to you.” His voice had turned dark. Numair understood: he remembered Carthak, and what it was like to be in the eye of a tyrant.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Numair told him. “King Jon is completely unorthodox. Daine and I will speak for you, and you can leave whenever you wish.”

“I’ve—had bad experiences with governments,” Jack said.

“Me too,” Numair said with a wry smile. “Listen, Pirate’s Swoop is a short detour, but it’s on the way to the border. We’ll stop there to get more supplies, and you can meet George, if he’s home. He’ll vouch for His Majesty.”

“This is the thief,” Jack said slowly. Numair nodded. “You want me to trust a liar?”

“George is very trustworthy, and if Cloud is to be believed, you’re a liar yourself,” Daine said frankly. Numair, startled at her forthrightness looked at her, afraid that she might scare Jack off.

 She wasn’t wrong, though. Numair had spent the entire journey back to the tower amused that Jack had not only conned Mistress Carra out of fixing his coat, but also out of extra clothes, given entirely of her own free will. He had never actually given her that incredible diamond. It was masterfully done; back in his days as a street mage, Numair would have failed miserably at something that audacious. Even Daine seemed fooled, which was impressive – Daine didn’t miss a trick.

It was a little worrying, actually. What had Jack conned out of them? Just a place to sleep and some food, really. And a horse. Nothing they couldn’t lose, anyway.  Probably. He’d have to be more careful. Jack was very good. He’d have to bring this up to Daine, Numair thought. They needed to confront Jack about this. With eyebright, if possible. He’d have to start carrying it with him again.

Tomorrow, Numair told himself. It was late, and he was hungry, and Jack was hardly going to steal anything valuable. He wasn’t a mage, so those things were safe, as they were under several protection spells – the worst he could get was some of Numair’s spare coins, if he ran off tonight.

He was going to strengthen the spells in Jack’s coat tonight, in fact. Jack wouldn’t notice if Numair added something extra into the fabric. A truth-spell, perhaps, or something to stop him from running off into the night. Jack wasn’t the only liar around, after all. Numair had committed treason, once upon a time.  He knew his way around a decent con. 

“I suppose she has a point, at that,” Jack was saying ruefully. He cast his eyes down and away. A farce? No. Real guilt, if Numair was any judge, but it was hard to tell with Jack.

“Nothing bad will happen,” Daine said. “I trust the king with my life.”

“Well, you would,” Jack told her dryly, and Numair inclined his head.

“True. Anyway, we’ll set out tomorrow.” His stomach rumbled. “It’s still Daine’s turn to cook,” Numair added, and Jack broke the sudden tension with laughter.


	10. Ten

Jack smiled to himself as he walked up to his room that night, coat folded carefully over his arm. It was well past midnight, and the stars twinkled cheerfully at him through the long, thin windows that lined the stairwell.

Daine and Numair were such pleasant company. They were just so genuine. Daine was terribly sharp and practical, and Numair had a devilish sense of humor. His eyes had positively glittered when he’d figured out that Jack had conned Carra, and Jack knew, he _knew,_ that if he played it right he could have the man tonight, and with him, beautiful, clever Daine. Or without Daine, if Jack was really good, and he was. It would be a fun, rewarding challenge.

But, ultimately, it was unkind. He didn’t want to con them anymore than he already was for the bed, food, and company. It wouldn’t be fair, and it would damage them, and they were so innocent; he’d let it lie. They had all eaten supper together, some sort of pasta dish, on the balcony once again. Numair had taken Jack’s coat, and before Jack’s eyes he had strengthened Mistress Carra’s extraordinary spells.

Jack had seen Daine with Red and other animals. He could pass off what they called magic as telepathy, as shapeshifting, something unusual but not unheard of.  But seeing Numair infuse the much-loved garment with a strange, glittering dark power had been entirely something else. Jack was coming to realize that this world was special, for more reasons than one.

Reaching the next landing, Jack walked through the threshold. He turned around, pushing the door to his room closed with his shoulder, still ruminating on the questions he’d asked Numair about the mage’s spell work. It was so different from anything he’d ever seen before, and that was definitely saying something.

A strong, musky smell assaulted his nose after he shut the door, and Jack looked up in surprise.

“Oh,” he said to the creature on his bed. “It’s you.” His good mood ran dry like water through a drain.

 _\--Of course it’s me,—_ the badger growled, sitting up straighter on the duvet. _–Have you thought over our bargain?—_ It was large as ever, and shining with good health. There was not a speck of dirt on it: its shaggy fur was sleek, the white stripes on its face and sides shocking in their purity. In the moonlight that peeked from the window, the animal truly did look like a god.

Jack sighed. In all honesty, he’d forgotten. This place was so pleasant, and he’d been enjoying himself. His visit to Tortall almost seemed like a holiday, like uncomplicated fun.

He paused by the closed door, thinking for a moment. Was it worth it?

Jack reflected on the past four days. Pleasant, interesting company, and his coat, almost brand new. Good food, a soft bed. A world where magic was real.

Yes. Yes, it was worth it. What the hell, why not? A bargain was a bargain, and Jack could never resist a good deal. He straightened his shoulders. Jack strode confidently over to the small armoire that sat on the other side of the room to hang up his coat. “Yes, I have,” he lied, his back to the badger as he thought furiously.

 _\--Well?—_ The creature behind him sounded impatient.

“What can you tell me about King Jon?” Jack asked, turning to walk to the bed and sit beside the badger. “How would he respond, if he knew what I am?” Best to cover his bases, first. He needed information.

The animal regarded him with black, intelligent eyes. It cocked its head, as if listening, and then turned to Jack. _–I cannot speak for two leggers,—_ it said slowly. _–And the Great Gods cannot say truly either; we do not control mortals. But I am told that the Goddess believes that he would react with surprise, but he would be unlikely to harm you. If you agree to our bargain, then we will make sure that he is on your side.—_

“And when this bargain is fulfilled,” Jack continued, “he will let me leave.”

 _\--If that is what you wish,—_ the badger replied. _–Do you accept?—_

“I will not be detained in any way,” Jack told it firmly. “If I am imprisoned, the deal is off.” He made a slicing gesture with his hand for emphasis.

 _\--We cannot control all mortals,--_ the badger reiterated.

“If I am imprisoned by the King of Tortall’s desire, or his order,” Jack specified. “If he, or his people, try to experiment on me, or hurt me or kill me without my permission, then the deal is off.” Jack was determined; he was not going to be taken captive or otherwise tortured or enslaved by any government again, not if he could help it _._

The badger nodded, agreeing to his terms. _–We will do what we can for your freedom,—_ it said. _–The King and the Queen will listen to us. Do we have a deal, Captain Jack Harkness?—_

“You will owe me,” Jack told the badger firmly, thinking fast, “Ten favors. From the gods. Helping along the way doesn’t count; I have to specify.” Infinite favors would probably end badly, and ten seemed like a nice, round number. Besides, he could always ask for more.

 _\--Very well. Have we a deal?—_ The badger was clearly getting impatient. It shifted its weight and curled its upper lip, showing teeth and watching Jack with disdain.

Jack smiled, slow and unpleasant, in response. “We do indeed,” he said.

The impatient lip went down, covering the badger’s teeth. _\--Very good!—_ It nodded. _–There are things you must know.—_

“Go on then,” Jack said, lying down on the comfortable bed, hands folded on his chest and head turned towards the animal. “What have you got?” He was sure to keep his posture relaxed and friendly, and the tension he felt invisible. He watched the badger sharply.

 _\--Our world is in a pouch, as I have told you,--_ the badger growled. _–The gods have power only over this planet. We have a Guardian at the Gates, who allows nothing through and keeps us safe. He was stolen away three human months ago, and since then, things have been… uncomfortable. We can sense things coming toward us, but without the Guardian, we do not know what they are, or if they will even land here. We are afraid, and we want insurance.—_ It looked at Jack long and hard. _\--You cannot die. You will be our insurance.—_

“I’m not staying here forever!” Jack said, arching his neck away from the badger indignantly. “And I can’t protect an entire planet, that’s ridiculous.”

The badger snorted, but it advanced onto Jack’s retreat until it was leaning down, almost nose to nose with him. _\--Then fix it, Captain Jack Harkness. Find our Guardian, lock the Gate; do_ something _. We are powerless, and the gods do not like such a feeling.—_

Jack scowled, not flinching from its unblinking, black eyes. “What about the weevils?”

 _\--Disgusting creatures!—_ the badger snarled, jerking away, much to Jack’s relief. It paced restlessly twice lengthwise across the bed. _–They came shortly before you did. We have no control over them and we do not know what they are.—_

“Right, okay,” Jack said, sitting up. “So, basically, you want me to guard you against the alien horde.”

It paused halfway across the bed and turned back to look at Jack quizzically. _\--You could put it that way, yes.—_

“Oh, hell,” Jack muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Why did people always want him to do that particular thing? There was a huge pit in Cardiff that represented Jack’s last miserable attempt to _contain the alien horde_. “What if I trained humans to do it?”

 _\--No.--_ The badger stared at him, dark eyes bottomless. _–Mortals must not have powers that gods lack.—_

“Yeah, okay, I can see why you would think that,” Jack said, rubbing his face. “But I can’t stay here forever.”

The badger walked back over to look up at Jack. _\--Then fix our Gate, find our Guardian.—_

“I can’t do that unless you show me where the Gate is, or give me a way to track your Guardian,” Jack said, exasperated. “Is it a god, a mortal? Does it have a DNA signature that I can trace? It’s not like I can look for it on any security feeds, since this place is in the backwaters of nowhere.”

 _\--I do not know, --_ the badger replied simply. _–These things are beyond gods. If you need help, ask for it; we now owe you ten favors, of course. We may intervene along the way. The mage will help you – Numair, the stork-man. Even Daine will know more than she seems; they are both sharp. I do not know, Jack Harkness. I only know that this must be fixed.--_

“Yeah, alright,” Jack muttered, already regretting the commitment. He looked away from the dark, solemn eyes. This was going to end so badly.

 _\--The Guardian of the Gates is male,--_ the badger continued, ignoring Jack’s body language,— _he has the tail of a snake, the fur of a wolf, the horns of a goat and the shape of a man. He should be three times your size. It is said that he holds a golden net, in which he snares all who try to pass him, and a great spear, with which he pushes outsiders away from the entrance. That is all I know; I have never met him.—_

“Myths and legends,” Jack muttered sourly. “Great. Can I go to sleep now? We’re heading for Pirate’s Swoop in the morning.”

The badger huffed at the casual dismissal. _\--Very well. Gainel will guard your dreams, Captain. Farewell.—_ There was a burst of silver light that made Jack blink and squint, and the badger was gone.

Jack wiped his eyes, which had started streaming defensively from the dramatic light of the badger’s exit. Honestly, showy entrances and exits must be a function of being a god. This place was _weird_. Jack doubted that he wanted some dream god peeking into his brain. There was too much that he wanted to forget there.

Then again, better to have a dream god’s favor than his disfavor. Jack had enough nightmares to last two lifetimes, let alone one. Maybe this god could keep them at bay. Jack sighed and prepared himself for bed.

That night he dreamed, and in his dreams, Ianto smiled at him.

 


	11. Eleven

Daine woke the next morning to a shout, which echoed through the tower and into their room. Numair murmured a protest into her hair. He tugged her closer to his chest and tried to burrow farther under the covers. There was another shout and Jack’s voice, furious, carried through the walls.

“Don’t you _EVER_ use that man’s face again, _ARE WE CLEAR_? And _no_ , that is _not_ a favor, that is a _requirement!_ _YOU DO NOT TOUCH MY MEMORIES!_ _Especially_ Ianto! Ianto is off-limits! If I dream of Ianto, I want them to be _my_ damned dreams, not some fantasy induced by _MEDDLING GODS!”_

_Meddling gods?_

Numair’s eyes had opened, and he was looking at Daine in surprise. She blinked back at him, equally surprised. She looked at the door to their room, as though she could see Jack though it. Of course she couldn’t, so it was a ridiculous waste of time, but it took her a bit to fight off the grogginess. Numair shifted and sat up.  He nodded decisively to himself before pulling back the covers. Daine sighed, but agreed – it was definitely time to get up. They dressed quickly, and hurried down the hall to Jack’s room, where Daine could hear him pacing within. She knocked on the door, Numair at her side.

“Jack? Are you alright?” she asked at the keyhole.

Jack cursed. The door wrenched open violently; Jack was standing in the threshold, clad only in his new breeches. His face was red and his blue eyes furious, his breath coming with harsh, heartbroken gasps. His cheeks were wet. “ _What?_ ” he snapped.

“You were shouting,” Daine told him, taken aback. Had he been crying? “Are you okay?”

“I was s—” Jack repeated, disbelieving, and then roared at the ceiling, _“Of course I was shouting!”_

Startled, Daine made to take a step back but Numair, standing behind her, blocked the way. He laid a protective hand on Daine’s shoulder.

“What happened, Jack?” Numair asked.

“You tell your gods to stay out of my head,” Jack seethed, storming away to snatch up his new tunic and then swing his coat ridiculously around it.

“Gods?” Daine asked, baffled. “Why are the gods in your head?”

“Gainel, the badger said,” Jack snarled, his back to them.

“ _You’ve_ been talking to the badger?” Daine spluttered, utterly at a loss. When did that happen? The hand on her shoulder tightened and she looked up at Numair, who winced down at her.

“I forgot to tell you that, didn’t I?” he said sheepishly.

Daine glared at him. “He told you—”

“I struck a _bargain_ with your damned badger,” Jack interrupted, hugging his coat tightly around himself as though for protection. He looked furious, and he didn’t seem to realize that there were tears making tracks down his cheeks. He didn’t even bother to rub at them. They were real, Daine was absolutely sure of it. “And apparently this gives your dream god the right to frolic in my head and twist my memories for the night.”

“Twist your— No, Jack, that’s not—” Numair started, but flaming blue eyes locked with his, and the mage was glared silent.

“If this dream god of yours thinks that it might _soothe me_ to bring dead people back for the night, _he is very much mistaken!_ ” Jack snarled. He was breathing hard, and a tear dripped from his chin to his neck. His breath shuddered and, clearly realizing at last that he was crying, he swiped at his face.

Daine approached him as she might approach a frightened animal. “Jack. You’re misunderstanding.” She tried to lay a hand on his arm but Jack skittered back, away from the comfort, looking lost.

He made a harsh gasping sound and it took him a moment to gather himself. “How,” he asked, teeth gritted, “am I misunderstanding?”

“Gainel can control dreams in the Divine Realms,” Numair said, his voice low and soothing. “He can only _direct_ them in the mortal realms. If you dreamed of your friends, then it was your dream, and Gainel only focused it.”

Jack swallowed. “I don’t care,” he choked. “I want them out of my head. There are too many things there that I don’t want to think about.” His blue eyes snapped back to them, guarded and wary. Also real, Daine thought.

“Of course,” she said. She kept herself still even though she wanted to go over to Jack, to help soothe his obvious grief. Who was Ianto? What terrible thing had happened to him?

There was a moment of silence.

Jack rubbed a hand across his eyes and took a deep breath. “Aren’t we going to Pirate’s Swoop today?” His voice was weak.

“Jack,” Numair said. Jack shook his head violently, wiping his eyes.

Daine walked over again, and this time Jack let her touch him. She rubbed his arm, silent. Jack was breathing hard, like winded horse. Numair had come over as well—he rested a hand supportively on Jack’s other shoulder.

Jack tensed. Daine took stock – she and Numair were surrounding him. What she thought of as comfort might be claustrophobic. She hadn’t realized before now that he was this skittish. Numair, clearly sensing it as well, backed off.

All that cheer, his wide grins and bright laugh—all false, she realized. Underneath, Jack was in so much pain he was practically screaming. Red was right. “Come on, then,” Daine said, tugging him gently. “Let’s get some food in you. Numair, I think we should stay an extra day.”

Jack, letting her lead him, shook his head again. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he whispered, eyes lowered. “There’re weevils running about. We don’t have time for me to fall apart.”

“Of course we do,” Numair told him. “One extra day isn’t going to hurt.”

“With weevils around? It really does. They’ll kill, and they’ll do it quickly if they’re not controlled.” Jack visibly collected himself. He took a deep breath, and somehow tucked everything inside himself with such skill and completeness that he looked perfectly at ease, minus the red eyes and the tear tracks. It was impressive, and not a little alarming. “Besides, I made a bargain with your badger, and I’m not about to back out now.” He scrubbed his eyes.

Daine and Numair shepherded him down to the dining room, where Numair prepared breakfast. By the time it was ready, Jack was dry-eyed and composed.

“What kind of bargain?” Daine asked him, once he seemed ready to speak. She was bursting with curiosity over this Ianto of his, but she could also see, quite clearly, that if she asked the wrong question Jack would run away so fast that they would not be able to tell which direction he went through the dust of his departure.

Jack sighed deeply and pinched his nose. “It said you two would help, so I suppose I’ll tell you.”

“Of course we’ll help,” Numair told him, placing a plate of fruit in the table.

Jack gave him a disbelieving look. “You’ve known me for all of a week,” he said, “And already you’re agreeing to help me, even not knowing what I’m doing?”

“I trust the badger,” Daine commented, “And you’re on the road to earning my trust, yourself.”

Jack looked away, shoulders tense. “You do realize I’m a con man, don’t you? I conned Carra out of my coat.”

Daine snapped her fingers. “That was what it was!” she said. “You didn’t pay her, you brat!” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t caught it! She had been so sure his reaction on the pedestal had been real.

Jack’s lips twitched reluctantly. “Did you just call me a brat?”

“She did, yes,” Numair said mildly. Daine glared at him,

“You noticed, didn’t you? And you didn’t say anything! Poor Carra!”

“Poor Carra has stabbed me with more needles than I can count,” Numair retorted. “Besides, it was masterful. I only dreamed I could do a con that good when I was street mage.” His amused tone cooled, however, when he added, “But I’m no fool, myself. You were actually upset, weren’t you? You just saw her sympathy and used it. Have you been doing that to us?”

This had occurred to Daine, of course. She’d even thought it probable. And yet—yet she had enjoyed his company, and been beguiled by his mystery. Numair was right. Jack was very good.  Of course he had been doing that to them. Horse Lords, how had she _missed_ it?

Jack swallowed, looked away. “Yes, I was genuinely upset. Even I’m not so good as to fake something like that convincingly.” He cast his eyes to the floor. “I—my coat—” he gritted his teeth and swallowed, as if just saying that had cost him dearly. “I was conning you at the start,” he added. “And then I liked you. And I could’ve—” his voice faded and he looked up at Daine.

His eyes were sharp. “Understand, I could have done terrible things to you.” Jack’s voice went cold. “And I thought of it. I really did. I’ve run with murderers and thieves and every horrible scum-of-the-universe you could think of. I could have hurt you. It would be easy,” he continued, but now the coldness was replaced by remorse. “But you are so trusting. You’ve—I haven’t seen genuine kindness like this in so long. I couldn’t bear to do it.”

Daine looked at him long and hard, the miserable man sitting at her table. He’d just confessed to something terrible, to taking advantage if her and Numair. He was clearly a superb liar. He had fooled her entirely. She should be furious. She was furious. And there was absolutely no reason for her to forgive him.

But then there was the badger, and this deal with the gods. The horses had said from the start that he was a liar. But there was also Red, telling her about how sad Jack was. There was no fooling the People, not with something like this. She looked out the window.

Red, she called.

In the stable, Red picked up his head.

Jack was lying, she told him.

Red chewed on some hay. He always lies, the gelding replied.

Should I forgive him? Daine asked, and she was genuinely asking. She didn’t know how to feel about this. She felt both betrayed, and unsurprised. Sometimes, the People had the best, most simple answer.

Jack is sad, Red said. His friends have all died. If he has told you that he was lying, he might want you as a friend.

I’m angry, Daine told Red honestly. I’m so angry.

So kick him, Red said. Jack is not a stallion who likes to take charge of a herd. He will if he must, but it is not his nature. He’s a second-stallion, not the king. He’ll submit to you, and then he’ll follow you anywhere.

 Daine opened her eyes. Numair was watching her patiently, Jack anxiously.

“Red says I should kick you,” Daine told Jack. “I’ve half a mind to do it.”

Jack quirked a small smile. “I deserve it,” he said. “What did you ask him?”

“If I should forgive you,” Daine replied frankly. “He says I should. What do you think, Numair?”

Numair looked from Daine to Jack. “I think the spell I put on his coat worked. What is the bargain with the gods?” he asked Jack.

“You put a spell on my coat?” Jack demanded, outraged. Daine blinked up at Numair, surprised.

Numair shrugged. “As soon as we got back from town, and I figured out your game. It’s a minor truth spell. It doesn’t stop you from lying, just makes you less inclined to do so. Tell me about the bargain.”

Jack gaped at him. “Will you take it off?” he asked.

Absolutely not, Daine thought.

“Eventually, if you prove trustworthy,” Numair said. “The bargain, Jack.”

Jack looked wide eyed and a little stunned. “Apparently your Guardian of the Gates has gone missing,” he said at last. “Have you ever heard of him?”

Daine and Numair exchanged a glance. “No,” Numair said, sounding surprised. “I studied in Carthak for _years._ Never heard of such a thing. Then again, some of the Immortals that came through when the Barrier fell surprised me, so I suppose I can’t know everything.” He frowned. “Or you could be lying. Prove that you’re not.”

Jack took a deep breath, as though preparing himself. “It’s a bit of a story.”

“We’re going to be on the road for a while, if we leave today,” Daine told him angrily. “We’ll have time.”

“Your funeral,” Jack muttered under his breath, before taking a bite of breakfast.

\---

He was completely screwed.

Captain Jack Harkness, you are a _wreck,_ Jack scolded himself furiously as they finished breakfast in awkward silence and began to pack for the journey. He couldn’t believe that Numair cursed his coat. His coat! There was no way he could run off now, not if his coat had a damned _truth spell_ on it, and like hell was he leaving it behind, after all this trouble.  

Jack had not meant to fall apart over Ianto. He’d already fallen apart. He’d taken his memories of Ianto, and hidden them behind a door in his mind: out of sight because they hurt, but never forgotten. These dreams had dredged them up, and Jack woke reaching for him, to find the bed empty, and Ianto dead.

It had felt so good to let Daine and Numair comfort him. It felt so good, and there was that damned _less inclined to lie_ spell, and the truth had come tumbling out, like an idiot. A rookie mistake. He stole a glance over at Daine and Numair.

Daine was so angry. Numair was too, but he’d had a whole night to simmer and plot, clever fellow, but Daine looked like she wanted to feed him to bears. Even Cloud laid back her ears when Jack reached the stables, even Spots glared at him over Numair’s shoulder. It felt like they’d kicked him while he was down. He’d underestimated them. Only Red welcomed him with pricked ears and bright eyes.

“Thanks,” he whispered miserably to his horse as he put on his saddlebags. “Thanks for forgiving me.”

Red lipped his sleeve. Something inside him trembled. As though sensing his distress, Red pressed his nose into Jack’s shoulder.

“You’ve been talking to Daine, haven’t you?” Jack whispered, giving him a carrot. He knew the answer of course; Daine would have thrown him out, if it weren’t for Red. Numair might have even turned him into something terrible—he’d heard him muttering to Daine about it. But Red regarded him with his warm brown eyes. Jack smiled weakly and offered him a bit, which he took. There was no need for cross-ties in this little barn. Jack gestured and Red followed easily at his side. Jack swallowed.

It was ridiculous to fall in love with a horse, he told himself. Jack didn’t do pets. But Red wuffled at his side, and Jack promised fiercely that he would defend this damn animal to the death and beyond, no matter how absurd that notion was.

“Ready?” Numair asked when they walked out of the barn. His voice was cold. Jack stuffed his coat into a saddlebag.

“Ah, no,” Numair said. He raised an eyebrow.

Jack sighed. He took out the coat, shook it, and threw it on without a comment before mounting up.

“Off we go,” he said quietly, taking his reins. He didn’t feel any different, wearing the coat or not wearing it. Less inclined to lie, Numair said. Well, alright.

Daine, sitting on a saddle for once, took the lead on Cloud. “It’ll take us about two hours to get to town at this pace,” she said. “Tell us who you are, and why you’re here.” It was an order.

No beating around the bush for this one, Jack thought unhappily. This explanation was going to be more revealing than he would like, but that was what they wanted, wasn’t it? They wanted the truth, unvarnished. They wanted him to destroy the con, and to give them something real. He could do that. He just hoped these two had open minds. “Right. I told you that I was a traveler, right?”

“Yes,” Numair said. The mage sat up straight on his black and white horse’s back, watching Jack keenly. He had his fingers in some sort of pouch. Jack didn’t ask. “That was true.”

“Yes,” Jack said. He took a deep breath for luck. “It’s going to sound ridiculous,” he warned.

“Just tell the truth,” Daine snapped.

Jack closed his eyes. “Do you know what stars are?” He grimaced at how that must sound, and then looked uneasily at his two companions.

“ _What_?” Daine demanded, but Numair looked thoughtful.

The mage looked up at the blue sky, and then said quietly, “The stars…” He paused. “There’s a school of thought that the stars are like our sun, only immeasurably far away. Is this what you mean?”

“Yes,” Jack said gratefully, glad that he did not have to explain that much. Best to keep it simple. “Many of the stars are like your sun. I am from a planet that orbits one of them.” Well. It was more complicated than that, but that would do. He was originally born on a planet. It wouldn’t exist for many centuries, but it was where he came from.  He wasn’t lying, Jack thought. Just taking things slow.

Way back when, this sort of thing was heavily frowned upon. Jack was giving them information that was highly beyond their society, and telling them things that their science hadn’t reached yet. There were laws about this sort of thing, but the Time Agency could go hang itself for all Jack was concerned. Daine and Numair wanted him to be honest. This would be easier if he was honest, and he had the gods here on his side.

Jack was tired of conning people, and he hated the mistrust in Daine’s eyes.

His two companions were staring at him in disbelief, and not a little fury. “You cannot expect me to believe that you’re a god,” Daine growled. “I know a god when I see one, and you’re—”

“No,” Jack interrupted, desperate. No, no, that sounded like the worst sort of con. “I’m not a god, I’m a traveler. I left my world to become a—a soldier, sort of, but it went all wrong.” Once he got started he couldn’t seem to stop. Damn this coat spell. “There was this, it wasn’t really a war it was more like—I don’t know, it was a _ctartha_ —yes, okay, my translation unit says your language doesn’t have words for it but they were taking us and I signed up to fight it.” God, that was ancient history, but they needed a starting point, a reason he left. It would do. It also had the added benefit of being true. “But it went to hell. I got recruited to this—well, they were supposed to be like sheriffs, right, but actually they turned out to be scumbags and I ended up running cons in the ass end of nowhere. I got picked up by this guy, another traveler and—and after that things went to hell _again_. I stayed on one world for years but then everyone died. Now I’m on my own. Just a traveler.” And that wasn’t even the half of it, Jack thought.

He’d cut out a good four hundred years with just that story. Thousands, counting that time he was buried alive. Mostly he didn’t. It got confusing if he did.

They were both still staring at him. Come on, Jack thought, still desperate. Come on, that is far too ridiculous a story to be a lie.

“Do you know what eyebright is?” Numair asked at last.

Thrown, Jack shook his head.

“It’s a powder that mages use to show when someone’s lying,” Numair said lightly. Jack felt his gut go cold. Surely that was overkill, he thought weakly.

He had been telling the truth, but it was very, very vague. It was barely an outline. It was so vague, it could be a lie. It was a lie by omission, really. He swallowed.

“What’s the verdict, then?” he rasped.

“Truth,” Numair said, a little wonderingly.

“Seriously?” Daine blurted.

Jack let out a deep breath. He thought he might vomit from the relief.

 “Traveling amongst the stars,” Numair murmured. “How did you end up here?”

“I hitched a ride,” Jack explained quickly, not wanting to go into the organ harvesters. “People travel in the space between worlds in these vessels – you can think of them like boats, like ships. I was a stowaway, but if I was found by these guys—it would have been bad. _They_ were bad. I needed to get away, and fast. I ended up here.”

“How?” Daine asked, still sounding skeptical. “They’d notice if you landed here. _We’d_ notice.”

She really was sharp, Jack thought.

“Short-range teleport,” Jack told her reluctantly, after a moment. “There was one on the ship. I used it.” This was a lie—he’d used his wrist strap and he had more control than he was letting on. In a place like this, such a piece of technology could be a disaster. Jack was being truthful about who he was, but there was no way they would get a piece of anachronistic technology out of his hands. He was a little relieved that he could even tell that lie, minor though it was. Maybe this coat-spell wasn’t the end of the world. 

“No,” Numair said. “Try again.”

Jack growled in frustration. Eyebright. Apparently not overkill. Okay, they _would_ get the anachronistic piece of technology. Damn it! “Fine. Fine! My damn wrist strap has a teleport in it, but it’s anachronistic technology and _very dangerous_ on a world like this one. It’s also broken; only good for short hops.” That, at least, was true.

“Telly—” Numair started.

“Teleport,” Jack corrected. “You disappear from one place, and reappear in another. It’s hard to explain without—” without particle physics, Jack thought, defeated.

“Your people have the power to do that?” Numair asked. “How does it work?”

Jack swallowed. He looked at Daine, who looked back at him, unabashedly angry. He flinched a little. He glanced at Numair, stone-faced but curious.

“You don’t—” Jack swallowed. “You don’t even have the language for it. And even if you did, I couldn’t tell you. No, _really_. Stuff like this, before its time—it does terrible things to civilizations. The _scale_ of it, Numair. You can’t imagine. It’s like giving fire to a newborn.”

 “Like a ship,” Daine supplied slowly. Jack swung his eyes to her desperately, and she was still looking steadily back. The breath left him, utterly relieved. She believed him. He could see it on her face. “Like a ship that brings in animals that don’t belong, and they take over. You can’t fault them for living, but all the other animals still die.”

God, she was bright. “It’s exactly like that,” Jack told her. “We call those invasive species, where I’m from.”

“Here as well,” Numair said. “But you still haven’t told us about this Guardian.”

“Your planet,” Jack started, grateful that he’d got past the hard part, and that they were still listening, “Is in a—well, it’s called a pocket universe, or a closed system, but I don’t imagine that’ll mean anything to you. It’s isolated. You can’t communicate with the rest of the universe. Nothing can come out, and nothing can come in – apparently this is the Guardian’s job. According to the badger, the Guardian’s gone missing. He wants me to either find him and bring him back, or close the Gates.”

“Before more people like you fall in,” Numair deduced. “Because I’m sure there’s a profit somewhere in starting a war over these anachronisms.”

“I know people who would love nothing better,” Jack agreed, thinking of another man with many names: John Hart, Vera Sooth and Mahael Todd. He was a friend and a good one—for a given definition of good—but the man was a loose cannon.

“That’s how these weevils got in, isn’t it?” Daine asked. She seemed calmer now, Jack thought, still flinching away from that rage. That eyebright, though annoying, was actually quite useful: it made it easy. Numair knew when Jack was telling the truth, and so did Daine. There was none of this was-he-wasn’t-he business. It was quick.

It was better. Truth was better.

“I suppose so,” Jack answered her. He shifted uncomfortably on Red’s back. This smacked a little like Torchwood, which made him nervous, but what else could he do? He did need the help, because he didn’t know the inner workings of this planet. He didn’t even know how the so-called magic worked here, or how it could be ruled by gods. “I’ve been told to fix it,” Jack reiterated. “I know I’m a liar and a thief, but now you’ve heard the truth. Will you help?”

Daine and Numair shared a look. It was an intense look; the sort of look couples used to communicate whole paragraphs without a word. Jack watched them. Red huffed, and Jack stroked his mane.

It was ridiculous for him to care this much. He had known them for all of five days, and he’d been conning them, and they knew it. Grow _up_ , Jack Harkness.

The couple finished conferring. They both looked at Jack.

“We’ll help you,” Numair said decisively.  “We should tell the king.”

Jack suppressed a shudder. He’d been afraid of that. Torchwood One in London had made employees swear an oath to _Queen and Country._ When Jack had taken over Torchwood Three in Cardiff, he’d done away with that little ritual. Queen and Country had done him no favors, especially after—

“I’ve had a few bad experiences,” Jack stated flatly, “with kings and queens.”

“Too bad,” Daine said blithely. Jack flinched. He deserved that. “But we won’t tell him about the—the telly-port,” she added. “Not of you think it’s dangerous. We can just tell him about the planets, and the Guardian.”

Jack mumbled a half hearted protest, but he knew they would do it anyway.

They rode in silence for a while, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Numair laughed. Daine and Jack looked at him.

“It’s amazing!” the mage said. “Stars like our sun. Other worlds. The space _between_ worlds. Have you been to many, Jack?”

“I’ve seen a few,” Jack said, tentatively amused.

Numair’s enthusiasm was like a balm. It even seemed to relax Daine.

“You should’ve seen…” Jack’s voice faded, but then he shrugged to himself. Where was the harm? These memories were good ones, and they had to make it back to the town for supplies and then to Pirate’s Swoop; there would be time for stories. “A while back I met a man called the Doctor,” he began after a moment’s hesitation. “He was that traveler I mentioned before, the one who picked me up when I was running cons in the ass end of nowhere. He wasn’t human, something called a Time Lord – last of his kind. I used to travel with him, way back when. He had this ship called a TARDIS—”


	12. Twelve

After two hours of wild stories, Daine felt herself begin to soften. She kept glancing at Numair, who had a finger firmly stuffed into a little bag of eyebright, but Numair’s rapt expression confirmed it: Jack’s stories were true. A little exaggeration here and there made Numair roll his eyes, but the truth was inescapable. Jack was not just from another realm—he was from another world. And he’d seen other worlds besides.

Even Daine, on whom the more esoteric sciences was lost, was captivated. It seemed that Jack, once forced to tell the truth, simply could not stop. Their fascination, their attention, influenced Jack; before melancholy and quiet, he practically became a new man, all toothy grins and raunchy jokes. The smiles he gave reached his eyes even, for the most part.

Jack was spinning them a tale about this Doctor, this Time Lord, the sole survivor of a massive war, utterly in love with a human girl called Rose Tyler.

The story lasted them until they got to town, where they picked up supplies for their journey. Numair kept on firing questions, making Jack squirm, because Numair caught him out when Jack lied. Daine started to hush him when he probed too far. Her anger at Jack had started to fade, especially now that he seemed more genuine. When Numair probed too far, that rakish smile would dwindle, and his eyes would turn away. Red very often protested, defending him to Daine, if no one else. It was a mistake to let her guard down, of course, but Numair kept him in line for now, between the spell on his coat and the eyebright. And his stories were—fun, for lack of a better word.

He was using those conning skills of his, Daine was sure of it. It was working. She was softening. It made her angry all over again.

By three o’clock they were riding out, making their way to Pirate’s Swoop. Jack was telling them a truly excellent story as they rode their horses in the sunshine, talking about some absurd adventure on a planet where the inhabitants communicated using smells rather than sounds. The Doctor’s magical ship had some trouble translating, and they’d ended up in a stinking, horrible prison. Rose had been separated from them and the Doctor, predictably, was beside himself.

“That’s disgusting,” Numair commented from Spots’ back. His fingers were still buried in eyebright, his eyes still a little wide; Jack was still telling the truth.

It was like going mad, Daine reflected, unsure if she were annoyed or amused. She was leaning toward amused, now.

“It was!” Jack agreed, grinning. He sat up straight on his gray gelding, holding the reins with one hand, the better to gesticulate with the other. Red was walking with a great deal of patience, keeping pace with Spots and Cloud as Jack was not really steering. “So the Doctor’s gripping the bars, yelling his head off – obviously, this is not going to help, but I think it made him feel better. And then, suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, there comes Rose Tyler, walking down the stairs in this random ball gown.”

“Bet that shut him up,” Daine said, smiling slyly at Numair from Cloud’s back. The pony tossed her head. They had been in similar situations, where the sudden appearance of Daine had halted Numair’s ability to think properly, and Cloud had taken particular pleasure in mocking the both of them.

And a just little bit more of Daine’s anger faded. Jack was very, very good.

“You betcha!” Jack laughed. “You could hear his teeth click shut, and who could blame him? She was _gorgeous_. I was lucky he was so distracted; if the Doctor had caught me ogling he’d’ve thrown a fit. But she just looked that good. Anyway, she walks right over, exhales all over the guard, and he passes out! You can imagine my confusion. So she takes the keys, opens the door and says—”

“’How is it that you always end up naked?’” Daine predicted, and the three of them laughed.

“That’s it!” Jack chuckled. “The Doctor, of course, glares and says, ‘Took you long enough!’ and then Rose goes, ‘You’re bloody thick, did you know that?’” Jack grinned, his teeth brilliant white in the sun.

Daine hadn’t imagined that the man could be so happy, but here he was. And it even looked real, too. There was no fooling horses: Red confirmed it, nearly trotting, enjoying Jack’s glee immensely. “It turned out that we were the problem. The TARDIS was translating for us using our breath, but it was too faint for the Lipnonians to smell, so they kept interpreting us by our moving lips, which seemed hostile. Rose, brilliant girl that she was, figured out that if you said your piece and then exhaled, the TARDIS could translate.”

“How’d she get the guard to pass out?” Numair asked.

Jack smiled. “She got too close, overloaded his sensors. Like screaming into someone’s ear. Anyway, she got us out; we ran like hell and stopped the invasion. We explained ourselves, and were hailed as heroes.”

“Did you get your clothes back?” Daine asked, still amused. Cloud was watching Jack with one eye as they walked, clearly enjoying the story despite herself. Daine knew how that felt.

“Me? No. The Doctor made a big fuss about his leather jacket and he got that back eventually, but the Lipnonians insisted on keeping our clothing to ‘keep our scent alive’” Jack smiled wistfully.

He tells good stories, Cloud commented, out of nowhere. Daine looked down at her pony’s neck in surprise.

He tells excellent stories! Red enthused.

Daine knit her fingers into her pony’s mane affectionately. It must have been interesting, exploring the universe, Daine told Cloud silently, up in the stars with a wild alien. I don’t know if I could do it.

No, Cloud replied, snorting at the thought, you belong here, with me. We can tell stories that are just as good. She huffed and Daine grinned.

Anything you have in mind? Daine asked and the pony snorted again, thinking about it.

“Keep your scent alive,” Numair chuckled, and Daine turned her eyes back to him and tuned back into the two-legger conversation. “At this rate, Jack, you’re going to have us dreaming up new Immortals, if nothing else.”

“Immortals?” Jack asked. He tilted his head curiously. “What have they got to do with anything?”

“Legend says that they’re created through mortals’ dreams,” Daine explained.

 “Fair enough,” Jack told them with a shrug. “When are we going to make camp?” He spared a look to the treeline, as though looking for a clearing.

“Soon, I think, what about you, dearest?” Numair asked.

“Before sunset is best. I think there’s a decent spot coming up. Isn’t there a brook?” Daine craned her head, looking around. The road was a familiar one, as they had often gone to Pirate’s Swoop. It was a day’s ride from Numair’s tower, with an early start and a reasonable clip, but they had left late and stopped at the town for a few hours; they would have to spend the night on the road.

“Right,” Numair nodded.

Tell him about the time the stork man fell into the ocean, Cloud implored Daine suddenly. Daine laughed outright. She supposed her anger at Jack had faded. It was just too much fun, exchanging stories.

He was terribly good, Daine thought. She wasn’t sure if it stirred the remanence of her fury, or it made her feel fond.

“Oh,” Numair told an expectant Jack wryly. “That’s not good. What does Cloud want, Daine?”

Jack’s smile was bright as the sun. “Those are the best kinds of stories,” he said, and looked eagerly at her.

“Do you remember,” Daine started, “When we went spear fishing, Numair?”

Numair groaned. “That was possibly the biggest disaster I have ever experienced, and that includes the destruction of the Carthaki palace.”

“Who takes a wildmage spear fishing?” Jack said to the general air. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“It was after the Immortals war,” Numair explained. “Emperor Kaddar, who inherited the throne after Ozorne, sent over ambassadors to cement the peace between us.”

“Fishing with spears is apparently a sport there,” Daine said. “And we were being _accommodating._ ”

Because two-leggers are clearly stupid, Cloud put in wryly, and Daine resisted the urge to chuckle at the comment that no one else would hear.

“So we all got on a boat,” Numair began, gesturing expansively. Spots rolled his eyes as the mage tugged on the reins unintentionally, gesturing. “It was actually around Pirate’s Swoop, now that I mention it – apparently the sea bass like it there. I kept on telling Daine not to go,” he said.

“I wasn’t about to let Kitten get on that boat without me,” Daine retorted. “And Numair, take your reins in one hand so you’re not tugging on poor Spots’ mouth. Honestly, the amount that poor horse puts up with.”

Numair smiled sheepishly and did as he was told, patting the gelding’s neck apologetically. Spots gave the horse equivalent to an amused chuckle. He wasn’t hurting me, he said. I’m used to it by now.

“Sure, blame the dragon,” Jack put in, bringing Daine back into the present conversation.

“Can you imagine?” Daine said, now grinning outright. “She’d sink the boat, just by herself. And I’d have to call up the dolphins to save you.”

“Let’s not mention the dolphins,” Numair said dryly. “She almost killed herself trying to speak to dolphins once,” he added to Jack, who nodded solemnly, although he ruined the effect by snickering.

Daine huffed. “So anyway, the boat sets out, and I’m nervous as anything. I don’t like it when my friends die, and this is not only violently but also for sport.”

“Understandably,” Jack agreed.

“So Daine,” Numair said, voice taking on a decidedly teasing note, “starts silently calling warnings out to all of the fish. No one sees a single one. Well, the fishermen start thinking it a little odd.”

“But they start pointing to Numair,” Daine cut in, “because they didn’t know what wild magic is. All they know is that he’s a mage, and the most powerful on the boat. Of course, this is bad, because the Carthaki delegation was there.”

“I was accused of treason,” Numair explained to Jack, who started laughing.

“Numair Salmalin: wanted for treason and frightening all the fish away!” he hooted.

“Something like that,” Numair said, rather sheepishly.

“So anyway,” Daine continued, chuckling herself, “the fishermen are getting more and more adamant about how Numair’s bad luck, I’m getting more and more afraid that they’re going to find out that it was me, and Kitten doesn’t like seeing either of us in trouble. So she walks right up to the lead fisherman and whistles as loud as she can, and that’s _loud._ He falls over, bellowing ‘witchcraft!’ but he falls onto Numair who—”

“—goes over the railing and into the sea,” Numair finished.

“I had to call the dolphins,” Daine said, deadpan, and they all had a laugh at Numair’s expense.

They reached the brook eventually, and made camp. Numair warded them into a circle, explaining to Jack that it was to keep out any unwanted Immortals. For some reason, Jack found this amusing, although Daine couldn’t begin to guess why. She thought about asking him, and forcing the truth out of him, but the man seemed exhausted.

 Let him keep a few secrets, Daine thought to herself, unrolling their dinner. We’ve pulled so much from him. Maybe he’ll tell us on his own, eventually. Maybe, if he tells us, I’ll know that I can trust him.

They bedded down for the night after building a fire and eating the dinner that they bought in town. Daine curled up next to Numair and thought and wondered. Finally, she fell asleep.

\---

There was a Girl in Daine’s dream. She glowed golden, and tears made tracks from her shimmering eyes. Around here was a great, hollow metal cave, and there was a great evil, lurking somewhere in the distance.

“I am the Bad Wolf,” she said. “I scatter, in Time and Space. A message.”

“What sort of message?” Daine asked.

“To lead… I want you safe… Protected…”

“Me?” Daine asked. “Why do you want me?”

“False,” the Girl said. “You are tiny. Everything comes to dust. All things. Everything dies.”

“I don’t understand,” Daine said. “Who are you?”

“I bring life,” the Girl said. “I can see everything. All that is. All that was. All that ever could be…”

_But that’s what I see…_

\---

Daine whirled at the second voice, but instead of spinning around she sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. It must have been around midnight. The stars were out, and the moon seemed to be just setting in the distant mountains. It was cold enough that she could see her breath, misting heavily from her dream.

“Love?” Numair asked drowsily. Daine looked down at him.

The fire had died to embers that picked out deep blue in his dark hair. He had turned over and was regarding her with one drowsy brown eye. Daine stroked his cheek affectionately. “I’m alright, Numair.”

The mage murmured and drew her down, cuddling her sleepily into his chest. Daine let herself be held, and nestled back into his embrace. She looked across the fire to see Jack, curled into a protective ball in his sleeping roll. He looked very small and very alone.

“I had another dream.” Daine’s breath whispered across Numair’s chest.

“Mmm?” The mage opened the other dark eye and regarded her with solemn sleepiness. “What sort of dream?”

She snuggled into him. “That Girl. The Bad Wolf. She kept saying—” Daine yawned. “I can’t remember.”

“Bad Wolf,” Numair murmured contemplatively. He stroked Daine’s curls. “What did Cloud call Jack?”

Daine paused. “The she called him a wolf,” she whispered, and her breath misted in the night.

“Cub who is not a cub,” Numair replied, lips against her hair.

“She keeps saying…” Daine remembered. “ _I bring life._ She said that last time, too.”

“Hmm,” Numair murmured. “We ought to—” he yawned. “We ought to write it down.”

“Yes,” Daine said, and sleep pulled her under once more.


	13. Thirteen

Owen Harper, dead twice over, was glaring at Jack. “You’re an idiot, Harkness,” he said.

Jack glared right back at him. “Owen. You’re dead. Get the hell out of my dream. I won’t stand for this.” They were standing in some kind of nightmare version of Cardiff, next to the wreckage that used to be Torchwood Three. It was a damp, misty morning, eerily quiet. Chunks of the sidewalk were ripped away, exposing the remains of the underground Torchwood Hub, now nothing more than a great, collapsing crater. There was water bubbling somewhere within. Owen stood amongst the rubble, looking, as he always had, utterly pissed off.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms. “No, I won’t. And don’t go blaming that weirdo Gainel, either, this is me you’re talking to. I owe him a favor.”

“How the _hell_ do you owe him a favor?” Jack demanded. He tried not to stare at the remains of the place where he’d lived for at least a hundred years, and even begun to consider a home during the last ten.

 The thing that looked like Owen quirked a devilish smile at him and Jack looked away from the familiar expression. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jack sighed, weary. This was not as bad as the false Ianto, but it came close. Owen’s deaths—both of them—had been almost entirely his fault. “What do you want?” Jack asked, defeated. He turned his face away from the specter.

“You ran away,” the medic accused furiously, uncrossing his arms. “I can’t _believe_ you ran away!”

The words hit Jack all at once, and he nearly staggered under the force of them. His head jerked up and he stared at the man. Last time, when Jack had asked the Ianto-specter something similar, it had started telling him about Tortall, telling him things he needed to know. It hadn’t sounded like Ianto by the end, not really. The farce had been inaccurate. But here—no one but Owen could get that perfect tone, the one that bordered on insulted and insulting. Jack choked a little. This was not the god Gainel playing tricks. It was too good. Jack took a breath, collected himself as best as he could and responded, voice cracking.

“What would you like me to have done? Everyone died, Owen!” He stared at his dead coworker and did not allow himself to tremble. Jack wanted to hug him; he wanted to kiss him. God, god, it was _Owen._

The man looked good; his cheeks had a healthy glow about them, and the bandages around his right palm, from where he had cut himself once and never healed, were gone, replaced by a whole and healthy hand. He was as he had ever been—a study of contrasts, pale skin and dark eyes, high cheekbones and dark, slightly curled hair cut short around his head. He was, Jack thought desperately, a sight for sore eyes.

And then, of course, the bastard opened his mouth.

“Just because your precious fuck buddy—” Owen started.

“Don’t you dare start on that, you don’t know the half of it,” Jack snapped. Oh, yes, this was definitely Owen. Jack recognized the conflicting urge to hug him and break his nose.

“Yeah, yeah,” Owen grumbled. He shifted his weight uncomfortably under Jack’s glare. “Listen, Harkness. I’m doing old Gainel a favor here, since you don’t want him tampering with your dreams.”

“How did he find you?” Jack demanded, still restraining himself from any form of physical contact, even though he badly wanted to embrace him. Owen could be hugged, and Jack had done it several times before, but not when he looked like this. This was business. Owen wouldn’t permit it.

He waved his hand. “I’m not really alive and I’m not really dead,” Owen said. “The stuff of dreams, Gainel said. Anyway, my body’s gone. _You_ brought me back to life the first time, I think you should remember. I wasn’t going anywhere, after that.”

“You were eradiated,” Jack said, softly. The urge to hug him increased tenfold. “Tosh said you were trapped when the reactor went critical.”

“Yep. My body decomposed—that was _fun_ , by the way—but I was still hanging around, when it was over, only _this_ time I wasn’t corporal.” He scowled.

“Oh, Owen,” Jack breathed. He gave into his urge and reached out to grip Owen’s arm in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be.” Owen shook Jack off. No, no hugging here. It was so like Owen, Jack thought with desperate fondness. “Gainel’s offered me a place in this Black God’s realm here, in exchange for passing you messages. So here I am, passing you messages.” He handed Jack an envelope, scowling. “Like a bloody pigeon.”

Jack huffed a small laugh at his tone and took the envelope. As soon as his fingers touched the coarse paper, the landscape started to ripple.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Owen scowled, and everything went dark.

Jack opened his eyes.

Sunlight was just peeking over the horizon, casting a misty, early morning glow around the landscape. He was in his bedroll, and he knew that. He was in Tortall, and Owen was dead and Jack could deal with it. There was none of the fury that had risen sharply in him when Gainel had taken Ianto’s form. The Owen in his dreams could not be forged; he was too pissed off for that. Jack sighed and rolled over.

There was something scratchy in his hand. He blinked, looked down, and saw the envelope.

“Right,” he mumbled. “Obviously.” He opened it.

  
**_You are our substitute Guardian, as promised;_**  
_**There is something heading toward the Gates.** _  
**_Destroy it._ **

“Great,” Jack muttered, slowly waking up. “Because gods can’t ever be specific.” He stuffed the note back into his bedroll.

“Jack?” Numair was suddenly towering above him, blocking the light. Jack, supine, squinted up at him. “We need to break camp if we’re going to reach Pirate’s Swoop by tonight.”

“Right,” Jack said again.  He squirmed out of the bedroll and started packing it away.

They ate a quick breakfast and broke camp. Jack put on his bespelled coat when Daine glared at him, and then tried not to think about it. She brought the horses around and they mounted and rode back to the road.

 The farther they got from the town, the smaller the road became, and as the trees rose more densely around them, Red started to shy.

“Easy there,” Jack murmured to his frightened horse, concerned. It was completely ridiculous, because horses shied all the time, but it hurt his heart a little. He glanced at Daine, hoping for a translation. She was looking around, and had pulled her bow from where it was clipped to her saddle. “Daine?”

“Killer unicorns,” she said softly, pulling an arrow from the pouch in her saddle and notching it, although she didn’t pull it back. “Stay close.”

Jack, always prepared, unclasped his revolver from his belt. Numair shot a look at the weapon, but did not comment, which was good; it was an anachronism and would be awkward to explain, and after yesterday they would definitely make him explain. Out of all his weapons, though, it would cause the least damage. There was no way he was pulling out a laser gun in a mediaeval society.

The horses huffed nervously, but continued walking. The woods had fallen silent except for the quiet clip-clopping of their hooves. There were no birds.

Red tossed his head and Jack hummed to him, resting a hand on the horse’s neck. Adrenalin was starting to make him antsy, and he carefully cleared his mind. No need to be nervous; he was a trained soldier, and in his time he’d fought scarier things than _unicorns._

There was a squeal from deep in the woods. It sounded like a horse, but the noise came from deeper in the throat and Daine tensed. “Go, quickly!” she said, “That was a hunting cry—I’ll follow.”

Numair looked like he wanted to argue, but Spots made it impossible; he lunged forward, apparently at Daine’s command. Numair yelped indignantly— the mage really was not the best of all riders—but caught himself as the gelding raced down the road. Jack himself gave a little yip of surprise as Red bolted to follow, hooves clattering in a swift gallop. Jack clung to his reins and wondered how the hell he was supposed to get a clear shot from the back of a horse. Red’s movements jostled his arm.

Something white and streaked with black leaped out onto the road, silver claws grinding stone. It blocked them in; Red and Spots pitched to a halt, spinning and squealing in alarm. Jack clung on to his horse and looked up, meeting the eyes of this thing called a killer unicorn in surprise and then defiance.

It was smaller than he would’ve expected, and its dark horn curled like a corkscrew. The tail was long and whip-like with a tufted end like a lion, and its short, slender legs ended in what looked like wolves' claws rather than hooves. It bared its fangs threateningly, eyes far more intelligent than he expected, and it snarled at him.

It lunged first at Spots with its dark horn, but Numair's horse was not as helpless as he looked. The black and white gelding squealed, rearing, and struck out with his hooves. Numair did not make a sound this time but clung to his horse determinedly and a bolt of black, glittering power whistled from his outstretched hand to the creature, which feinted and fell back.

There was the sound of hoofbeats behind them as Cloud and Daine caught up. The gray pony was racing toward them. Daine had fired three bolts. They had all hit home; three dead unicorns slumped, dead, in the road behind her. But it seemed that they hunted in packs—herds?—because Jack counted at least twelve more of them, closing in from the woods.

“Look,” Daine called to the advancing animals, “I’d rather not kill you, if you just—”

A large, shaggy one pranced forward, huffing and snorting. It looked like it was the alpha, or whatever killer unicorns had for a leader. They all had black tangled in their white fur, Jack noticed, and then realized that the dark streaks looked like dried blood. It bared its teeth at Daine, and clearly said something unpleasant, because Daine fired.

That was all it took. The herd, surrounding them, lunged as one with claws screeching against the stone and mouths foaming, teeth bared.

Two went down with Daine’s bolts, and Numair threw his strange power at three more.

Jack was reluctant to use his revolver, given that it was an anachronism, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He made a swift decision, and then fired five loud _cracks_ in rapid succession. Red reared in fright at the noise. Five unicorns went down and the remaining ones fled.

“Easy,” Jack whispered, pulling the reins tight as Red squealed and tried to bolt. “Easy, you’re alright, see? No harm done.” He quickly clipped gun back to his belt and patted his huffing horse’s neck. Red threw up his head and stilled, trembling. Jack sighed at his apparent calm, relaxing, and then, abruptly, Red’s tense muscles coiled again and he bucked wildly.

Yelping with surprise, Jack went flying and hit the road hard. Red gasped, standing stiff with terror, staring at down him with white rimmed eyes. Jack blinked at his horse. “Ow,” he said, stunned.

“Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith!” Numair said, staring at the dead unicorns and not seeming to notice that Jack had taken an unscheduled dismount. “That was a massive herd. Is everyone alright? Daine, Jack?”

“M’fine,” Daine replied, and then looked over at Jack, sitting in the road. She couldn’t hide an amused snort. “Jack? Are you alright? Did Red throw you?” She slid from Cloud’s back and walked over to calm Jack's gelding, who looked ready to bolt again.

Jack got up and scowled at his horse. “Yeah,” he muttered. Red snorted and then turned to Daine, huffing anxiously.

“He panicked,” Daine said, stroking the gelding's nose. “He says he’s sorry.”

“S’alright,” Jack replied. Honestly, he thought wryly, this was completely typical. He’d shot the enemy, survived killer unicorns and then his damn horse threw him.

“What made that noise?” Numair asked. He peered at Jack’s revolver from Spots’ back.

“Revolver,” Jack said, not looking at him. Honesty, he thought firmly. They wanted honesty from him, so he’d give it. “It’s an anachronism. I’ll tell if you make me, but I’d rather not. It’s dangerous.”

“That was a _weapon_?” Numair demanded. “How—” he stopped himself.

Daine patted Red’s cheek and then moved to inspect the unicorns that Jack had killed. “A very small, metal crossbow,” she said definitively, and then looked to Jack for confirmation.

Jack smiled a little. He strolled over to inspect the damage himself. “You could say that, yeah. But the ones that ran off—” His voice trailed.

“You’re right,” Numair said. “Daine, we should keep moving, before they come back for more.”

Daine nodded. “It’s odd that they didn’t listen to me,” she said, walking over to mount Cloud again, but she hesitated, hand on her pony's whithers. “Usually they leave me alone, at least, if only because I have a reputation. They must be hungry, Numair.”

“Or migrating,” Numair said, looking at the dead Immortals thoughtfully. “I haven’t seen a herd that big in a while.”

“Do they have a mating season?” Jack asked. He glanced back down at the unicorn that he had killed. They were rather beautiful, in a fierce sort of way, he thought sadly. It was a shame to kill them.

“Maybe,” Numair said. He seemed anxious to leave. “I don’t know very much about them, to be honest. Come on.”

Daine conferred silently with Cloud, and Jack frowned down at the unicorn he’d shot.

“Jack?” Daine asked. “Numair’s right, we really shouldn’t linger. There might be more.”

“Nothing,” Jack murmured. “Just—curious.” He crouched down beside the dead creature, studying its build and shape, so he would remember. Jack wondered briefly what a regular, harmless unicorn looked like.

“What are you doing?” Numair asked.

“Just—oh.” Something caught his eye. The blood of the animal was silver, and there was rather a lot of it to his left; it glinted in the sunlight. He moved over to another unicorn, one taken down by Daine’s bolt. There was a familiar bite pattern on one of its flanks, the wounds not quite healed. The silver of the blood had caught his eye. “This one has been in a fight,” he said quietly. “Look, something bit it, deeply.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Daine murmured, stepping away from Cloud coming closer. “Numair, does anything hunt Immortals, besides us?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” the mage replied, craning his neck from Spots’ back.

Those marks were really familiar. Why were they—oh. “This looks like a weevil,” Jack said darkly, realizing.

“Those are… some nasty teeth,” Daine said. She crouched beside him.

“Yes. Look. Four primary canines,” Jack said, his hand outstretched, hovering over the puncture marks.

“Don’t touch it, the blood burns,” she warned.

“Yeah, I figured it was something like that,” Jack replied wryly and continued to examine the wounds. “Eight secondary canines and a larger-than-average bite. They have hinged jaws. Do you know of anything else that can do this?”

“No,” Numair said, and Daine shook her head.

“Could they have been chased out?” Daine asked. “Migrating away because of these weevils?”

“Possibly,” Jack agreed, rising to his feet. He offered Daine a hand. She took it and stood up too. Jack walked back to Red, still thinking aloud. “But one of these is too difficult for them. Too fast.”

“Maybe it didn’t know that yet,” Daine suggested, taking Cloud’s reins. “Maybe it had to learn. The unicorn got away, didn’t it?”

“Fair point.” Jack reached for Red’s reins, but the gelding shied away from him. “Hey, it’s alright,” he told Red, surprised and absurdly a little hurt. Daine paused.

“He wants to know what the noise was,” she explained. Jack blinked. Red looked at him, and Jack could see the whites of his eyes. He’d scared him. Feeling guilty, Jack took out his revolver again.

“Tell him it’s like a bow but nosier, and with better accuracy, and it will never hurt him, not if I have any say in it,” Jack said. He offered the weapon to the horse, handle first.

Delicately, Red bent down to sniff it and then snorted, pulling his head up.

“He doesn’t like it,” Daine supplied. “Says it smells… bad.”

“Tell him that smell is called gunpowder,” Jack said. Red lowered his head again, resting his nose on Jack’s shoulder.

“He says that he'll trust you, but he doesn’t like your—revolver, is that what you called it?” Daine asked.

“Yes,” Jack agreed, but he didn't answer her unspoken question. “Tell him I know a few people who agree with the sentiment, but it’s saved my life a few times.” Not that it really mattered; he’d just wake up. Still, the idea was important.

It was odd to be explaining this to a horse, but Red was important in a way Jack couldn’t really define. This place was different to anywhere else Jack had been. He wasn’t sure if it was down to Daine or what, but the animals were different. Jack wanted Red to trust him. Red had already done him a good turn, and Jack had fallen hard and fast. He didn’t do pets, but Red was exceptional, and so Jack would make an exception. Anyway, a wise man back in the nineteenth century had once told him that a good horse was priceless and, in an age where there was no other form of transportation, Jack believed him.

Red huffed a little and took his nose off Jack’s shoulder. “May I get back on you now?” Jack asked politely. It was very hard not to turn that into an innuendo, even when talking to a horse, but he didn’t and was rather proud of it.

Red dipped his big head up and down--a nod. Jack blinked, a little surprised at the gesture, but clambered onto the gelding’s back without delay. “We should get out of here,” he said.

“Yes, finally,” Numair agreed, relieved, and led the way. He urged Spots into a clumsy trot. Daine rolled her eyes at his form and brought Cloud around to Numair’s side, hissing for him to straighten his back. Jack felt a vague amusement uncurl somewhere in his stomach and he quirked a little smile, nudging Red to follow. These two were quite the pair, he thought.

Wait--that was--he was feeling  _fond._  Horror abruptly raced down Jack’s spine, fierce and unexpected. He’d become attached, he realized, appalled, as Red’s hooves clacked against the road. He’d become attached to Daine and Numair and their strange world of magic. He certainly loved Red. Jack swallowed, faltering, and then sitting into the trot in shock.

This was bad. No, it was beyond bad, it was _awful_. They were suspicious of him. They were angry with him. _They’d cursed his coat._ He’d never win them over without another con and anyway, people he loved died. People he didn’t love died. _Everyone_ died. It was always a mistake, to get attached. He had to get out of here.


	14. Fourteen

The road was paved, kind of, with large slabs of rock ground into the dirt. The horse’s shoes made loud sounds against the stones, hopefully scaring away any more predators. The noise was soothing, and the rhythm of Red’s trot sang a counterpoint to Jack’s disturbing thoughts. They kept a steady pace before stopping by a pond at midday. The horses drank, and Daine made lunch, which was a kind of soup in a roll of paper.

“Clever,” Jack said, trying to distract himself. Daine looked up at him, but her eyebrows drew up in response at his tone. She was perceptive, Jack thought sourly. Damn her for being perceptive.

“It’s a trick the Queen’s Riders taught me,” she explained, dumping the roll out into boiling water. “Fast and easy to carry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jack lied, and it was rather unconvincing. “Just thirsty.”

Lunch was surprisingly palatable, and they got back onto their horses with full bellies, and Jack got himself back under control. As they neared Pirate’s Swoop, the scent of ocean grew stronger and the sun began to descend slowly into the sky. They rode through twilight and into darkness, and the moon was rising when they arrived. A small, sleeping town rose in silhouette around a fortress by the cliffs, which overlooked the sea. The gates were open, and as they approached Jack saw a figure on a horse in the shadow of the threshold. He thought of the Guardian he was supposed to substitute, and wondered wryly if this was some kind of sign.

“You know,” the figure said in a woman’s voice when they approached, “these days it isn’t safe to ride at night. _Especially_ when you don’t send a message to the place you’re going.”

Jack fingered his revolver uneasily. He glanced over to gage the responses of his companions.

Daine had turned to Numair, and although it was dark Jack could see the glare she was giving him.

“You forgot to _tell_ them?” she said, and the figure on the horse laughed.

“Lucky for you,” the silhouette said, “Jon knows us better than anyone would like. He sent a message for you, and I was in the area, so I came to _throttle_ you.” Jack could hear amusement in the voice, but he didn’t relax. A show of amusement was just the thing to ease an enemy’s mind, and then strike when their guard was down. He’d be damned if he let anything happen to Daine or Numair.

“Lioness,” Numair groaned, utterly unaware of Jack’s tension.

“Don’t _Lioness_ me, Numair Salmalin,” the woman on the horse snapped. Suddenly she was washed in violet light, and Jack blinked, adjusting. It seemed that Numair wasn’t the only mage around.

She was beautiful, Jack thought, in an unusual sort of way. Her hair was flaming red, and her proportions told him that she would be short, on the ground. At this distance and in the odd light he couldn’t see her eyes, but he got the impression that the color was strange.

“Honestly, is a messenger pigeon so hard?” the woman called Lioness scolded. “You live with the _Wildmage._ ”

Numair looked embarrassed. Daine rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Alanna,” she said. “We were distracted.”

The Lioness, whose name was apparently Alanna, held up a hand. “And that’s all I want to know. Come inside, so we can close the gates. Who’s your friend?”

“Cap’n Jack Harkness,” Jack said promptly, grinning with all the charm he could muster. This woman was a friend; the name Alanna was familiar, and he could remember Daine and Numair speaking about her. Still, another person was only someone else to put at risk. Jack remained tense, although he smiled and went through the motions of perfect ease. “I take it your name is Alanna?”

“Stop that,” Daine said sharply. Jack grimaced, and felt the charm he was shamming drain away at the rebuke.      

 “Cheeky,” the woman called Alanna said. She sounded curious, though, and Jack saw her looking over her shoulder at Daine as they followed her on horseback though the gates. The light she cast was violet, and it made strange shadows play on the walls of the stone archway. “I’m—”

“Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau— called the Lioness, the King’s Champion,” Numair interrupted. “He won’t have known,” he explained when the woman gave him a startled look. “And if I let you introduce yourself, you’ll leave out the Champion part.”

Alanna flapped a hand at him over her shoulder, dismissing Numair’s teasing grin. The mage only chuckled. Clearly, they were old friends, Jack thought uneasily. They emerged on the other side of the gate and halted.

“Lady Knight,” Jack said, unable to help quirking a smile. This place, this Tortall, was _wonderful_ , it really was.

“Got a problem with that?” Alanna challenged, eyes turning from Numair and locking sharply with Jack’s.

“Nah,” Jack’s smile widened with genuine delight. “I think it’s brilliant, actually.”

The Lioness watched him shrewdly for a moment. “I’m glad to hear it.” She turned away and up to the ramparts around the walls, and the open doors through which they had just passed. “ _Close gates!_ ” she bellowed, voice carrying and echoing into the night.

The great, wooden gates immediately creaked and groaned, and the men standing atop them began to turn large gears, slowly closing the doors. “Anyway,” the Lady Knight added over the noise, beckoning them up a grassy hill, “welcome to Pirate’s Swoop.”

Three towers stood within the walls, and they rose dramatically in the moonlight. They sat atop the hill, partially set into the cliff side, and Jack was sure that the view during the day would be magnificent. They rode up to the largest of the three towers, where there were grooms waiting for their horses. Jack dismounted with the others, and handed Red off to a short, stocky kid, although he couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “Take care of him,” Jack told the boy gravely. “I’ve grown attached to him.” He patted Red’s neck. The horse snuffled at Jack, eyes bright. He looked surprised, if a horse could look surprised.

“Good,” Daine said. The dappled gelding looked back as the boy led him away, steps reluctant. “He’s certainly grown attached to you. We stole him off a couple of bandits, wandering outside of Stone Hill,” she added to Alanna.

“Did you really?” she said. “I’ve been after them. We’ll have to send another Rider group, when we get word to Jon.” She tilted her head, and the three of them followed her into the tower.

“Have you all had dinner, or did you ride straight through?” Alanna asked as she led them through the double-doors of the tower. Torches jammed in sconces high on the walls lit the place, and Jack was rather charmed by the antiquity of it. The light they cast was warm, and there were enough of them to chase most of the shadows from the corners.

“Straight through,” Numair said. They walked across what looked like a great entrance hall and headed for a flight of stairs.

“Well, I’m not your mother, but you should know better,” Alanna tutted.

She led them up the stairs and to a landing, where they took a left down a hall. “We wanted to make it here by nightfall,” Daine explained. “We set out late yesterday, and I didn’t want to tax the horses. It’s a day’s ride from Numair’s tower,” she added to Jack, “if you start early, and don’t stop. We started too late, and it got dark, so we camped the night. Then we ran into those killer unicorns.”

“Killer unicorns?” Alanna asked. She stopped short and turned to look at the three of them, surprise evident on her face. “Don’t they live in the north?”

“Yes,” Numair said. “Did Jon tell you where Daine and I are going?”

“He just said that you were investigating a new Immortal on the Great Road East to the Gallan border.” Alanna said. Her eyes slid inquisitively to Jack. They were a startling violet color. He did not let himself shift his weight under her stare.

Numair nodded. “Yes,” he said, and gestured for Alanna to keep walking. She nodded and led them down the hall, but at a slower pace, looking back. “We think they might’ve driven the unicorns out. One of the ones Daine killed had some pretty particular scars.” Numair glanced at Jack.

“Particular scars?” Alanna halted again, this time outside a pair of rooms. “How particular?”

“Puncture wounds,” Jack put in slowly, still a little unsure of her. Daine and Numair clearly trusted this woman—trusted her more than they trusted Jack for certain—and she was allowing them to spend the night here. Daine was giving him an encouraging look and Numair was nodding, so Jack continued hesitantly. “Four primary canines, eight secondary ones. I don’t think that this new Immortal is an Immortal – I think it’s something called a weevil.”

“A _weevil_?” Alanna demanded. “I take it you don’t mean the insects that eat crops.”

“No,” Jack replied. “I don’t. Which one’s mine?” He gestured at the rooms. It was rude and he knew it, but suddenly he was tired, and he still wasn’t comfortable.

“The one on the left. You still haven’t told me what a weevil is.” Alanna arched one eyebrow. Jack reacted instinctively; he wanted to end the conversation right here.

“You can tell her, Jack.” Daine said, but it was gentler than her rebuke at the gate. She laid a hand on his arm. Jack startled at the contact and looked down at her, all earnest blue eyes and curly hair. She was on the road to forgiving him, he realized, stunned. She was rather incredible, was Veralidaine Sarrasri. He swallowed.

“I’m a traveler,” Jack said without emotion, still looking at Daine. Honesty, he thought. “I’ve seen a lot of things. I lived in a place very far from here for a while. The sewers were crawling with weevils – it was part of my job to catch them.”

Alanna regarded him for a moment and then nodded, accepting his explanation. “I think we’ll talk more about this in the morning. I’ll have someone send dinner up. Good night.” She walked down the hall.

“You should be more polite, Jack,” Numair said. “Alanna’s a friend.” He still had that eyebright in his hand, but his eyes were kind.

Guilt shivered down Jack’s spine. “I think I’m just tired,” he said. It was a lie, but a small one. Numair gave him a hard look. Jack averted his eyes. “Numair,” he said to the floor. “I really need a break.”

Numair hadn’t shifted his gaze. He looked at Jack long and hard, before acquiescing with a nod. “Alright,” he said.  He gestured to Jack’s room, and Jack fairly bolted, dignity be damned.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, panting a bit. The past two days had been very hard. He leaned his head back against the door and took a deep breath before surveying his room.

It was reasonably large and tastefully furnished. There was a door to one side that he imagined connected to Daine and Numair’s room. There was really no escape. Great.

Jack went to sit on the bed, head in his hands. He was tired of explaining this. The more he talked about weevils, the more he remembered Torchwood, and the more it hurt.

He wanted to run. Spell on his coat be damned – he could just run, leave Daine and Numair and their kindness, because they were kind even despite their suspicion. He’d be safe from developing attachments to people, safe from the heartbreak. Jack could take Red – because it was too late on that one and in this world, he needed a horse anyway - and strike out on his own, like he had before. He could take care of the weevils and the Guardian and then split, with ten limitless favors from powerful gods. He could have anything, and the faster he ran, the easier it was to forget. He could probably ask them to get rid of the spell on his coat.

Actually. No—no it was a terrible idea. Surely Numair would notice. He needed more information about spells, before he played that gamble.

“I’m assuming,” he told the ceiling as another thought sprang to mind, “that I can’t wish for the dead to come back to life.”

“You assume correctly,” a soft voice responded, almost immediately. “Had you come from this world, we would be able to do as you wish; however, the dead of your world are outside of my jurisdiction.”

Well then. That was unexpected. Jack blinked and looked around, but he could see no one. It didn’t sound like the badger; he heard this voice with his ears, not his mind, and it was not as gruff.

“To whom am I speaking?” Jack asked, looking around at the empty room.

“I am the Black God, the God of the Dead.” There was a man in a dark cowl standing in front of Jack where there had not been one a moment before. Jack jerked back in surprise, and then forced himself to relax. This god could not hurt him.

“So I’m out of your jurisdiction as well,” Jack said dryly.

“I do not know what you are, Jack Harkness,” the Black God said. “I have never, in all my years, seen anything like you. I do not believe that I can even—” he reached forward, as if to touch Jack’s cheek. His hand extended, pale fingers reaching out of a black cloak. He was close enough that he should have been able to lay his palm flat on Jack’s face. Jack did not lean back, but the god’s hand did not, could not reach him. It was as though the space between them had increased without changing at all, like Tantalus grasping for a fruit just out of reach.

“I see,” Jack murmured, watching that hand. The Black God pulled away.

“I am sorry, Jack Harkness. I cannot make you mortal, either. I don’t think that you could even follow me into my realms.”

“What about Owen Harper?” Jack asked.

The god huffed a little and his voice, as it emerged from the cowl, was amused. “Quite the spirit, Owen Harper. When you refused Gainel, the dream god came to me, to see if there was anyone to speak in his place. I looked for your Ianto, but I could not find him. The dead of your world are hidden from me. I would imagine that my daughter, the Graveyard Hag, would have better luck. Even then, I doubt she would have full control. Harper, however, is not dead, and he is not alive; he is the stuff of dreams, and thus Gainel’s jurisdiction. He agreed to act as envoy, if I could give him rest.”

“That sounds like Owen,” Jack replied fondly. “Making a deal with the god of death.”

“Yes,” the Black God chuckled. “He was quite sharp with me, you know. No mortal soul has spoken to me that way for thousands of years – they are generally too afraid. Then again, I have never met a human that I could not touch.” There was a smile in his voice, though the cowl hid his face. “These are quite the times, Captain Jack Harkness.” He started to fade away.

“Death in this world seems very kind,” Jack said. “It is not so kind, where I come from.”

“I am the end of suffering,” the god said, and all amusement had faded. His voice was firm and powerful, a simple statement of fact. “And the end of happiness. There is no kindness and no cruelty. I am simply the end. My realms are much as the realms of mortals – they are what the individual makes of them.” He vanished.

“Darkness,” Jack whispered sadly to the empty space where the god had gone, “silence. Death is nothing, and nowhere where I’m from. They go to the place where I can’t follow.”


	15. Fifteen

Daine woke to warmth, and the soft puff of Numair’s breath on her face. He was murmuring her name, lips against her hairline. “Daine, sweet, wake up.”

She sighed and stirred. He murmured again, pressing a kiss beside her ear, and she curled closer to him. She felt him smile against her forehead, his hair brushing her cheeks. “Alanna’s going to be pounding on the door any minute,” he whispered. He was sleep-warm and comforting, and Daine most definitely did not want to rise for the day just yet. 

“Is she?” Daine whispered back, and Numair chuckled, lips slowly sliding down her face, making his way to her mouth.

Predictably, there was a knock on the door. They both froze, startled, watching each other with wide eyes. It wasn’t the front door, but the one that connected their room to Jack’s. There was a short silence and then a scuffle. Daine could hear a squeak and then a familiar, indignant squawk. “Are you awake?” Jack’s voice called from his room, voice strained.

“Go away, Jack,” they chorused, and grinned goofily at each other. Numair moved to kiss her again.

“I need a bathroom, or a loo or a privy, whatever you call it here,” came Jack’s voice from the other side of the door. There was a crash, and shrill sound. Numair suppressed another chuckle against Daine’s cheek.

“Down the hall, take a left, you’ll find a room with chamber pots,” Daine said, rolling her eyes up at Numair. He grinned at her, eyes dancing wickedly.

They heard footsteps on the other side of the door and then a high pitched, shrill sound. “By the way, I think I’ve found your dragon.” Jack added, sounding perplexed.

“You’ve _what?_ ” Daine jerked away from Numair in surprise, suddenly recognizing the squeaking and crashing, and the familiar note of panic in the man’s voice—that was very common in people who looked after Kitten for the first time. Daine tried to sit up, but Numair held her still, arms tightening playfully around her waist.

“Jack can handle himself for a little while longer,” he said. Daine threw him dry look, because Kit could be fair destructive if she really wanted to be, and he raised his eyebrows back, lips twitching in a smile. She tugged, suppressing a grin of her own; Numair resisted, and it resulted in a playful tussle. They ended up falling hard on the floor, both laughing at the pained look on the other’s face.

There was a familiar whistle-croak, and the sound of the door opening. Daine gave a tiny, horrified squeak, whipping her head around.

“Now I know I’m interrupting something,” Jack muttered, standing in the threshold. He was wearing his breeches and tunic, with his coat thrown over his arm. He looked down at the two of them with an odd little smile around his lips. Daine would have been utterly mortified, but she was distracted by a blue-white blur; Kitten had thrown herself at them.

“Kit!” she exclaimed in surprise and delight, struggling to disentangle herself from Numair and the sheet that wrapped around them both. “What are you doing here?”

Kit, utterly unhelpful, chattered obliviously back and tried to climb into the tangled mess of the two-leggers and the sheet.

“Glad to see you too, little one,” Numair’s voice was exasperated but fond. He pulled the dragon over playfully by her tail. Kit shrilled gleefully and batted at his nose.

“She opened my door this morning,” Jack said, leaning his shoulder in the threshold and crossing his arms, watching. His voice was cheerful, but if Daine had looked at his expression, she would have seen the shadows that lurked in his eyes. “And then there was this massive upright lizard, who turned out to be your Tkaa, dropping her off. He said something about something urgent, and then split. I don’t know why he left her with me – I’ve never seen either of them before – but she came right over.” He sounded very confused.

Kitten stopped trying to snuggle with the hopeless knot on the floor, and turned back to Jack. She leaped off them, ran to the man in the threshold, and stretched her paws to his hip, clearly begging to be picked up. He stiffened, leaning away.

“She likes you,” Daine said, finally managing to disentangle herself from Numair and the sheet now that Kit had left them. She managed to wrest the sheet around herself and toss Numair a pillow. She stood and regarded Jack.

Jack was looking down at the dragon at his hip reluctantly. “I see that. I just keep wondering why.” Kitten shrieked, demanding, and Jack flinched, apparently startled at the noise.

“Kit!” Daine scolded. The dragon turned to her, chattering excitedly, before looking back to Jack and fixing him with pleading eyes. “Leave poor Jack alone. Um. Can we get dressed?” she added, glancing at an embarrassed-looking Numair, who had not let go of her hand. He was still on the ground, holding the pillow over himself sheepishly.

“Yeah,” Jack muttered. He glanced at Daine again, and then seemed to steal himself. Jack bent down to Kit’s delighted chatter and hefted her uncomfortably in one arm before standing up again. Her tail curled adoringly around his waist. “I have to use the loo, anyway. You said down the hall to the left?” He gestured with his thumb. There was something desperately sad in his eyes, and Daine paused when she saw it, confused. There was no reason for him to playact sorrow. Even yesterday, he’d been wary and hurting, but this seemed deeper and darker. It must have been real.

“Yes,” she agreed slowly. “You can leave Kit here, if you want.” He held the dragon easily enough—clearly, he was not afraid of her, like many were. But having noticed his guarded expression, Daine could see the tension in his shoulders, the shadows in his eyes. His jaw was set, as if he were fending off a physical blow.

The dragon turned yellow and shook her head emphatically, clinging to Jack’s tunic, oblivious to the man’s distress. “She can come if she wants,” he said. He sounded bemused, but the light tone did not match his expression. That was playacting, Daine thought. The hurt was real, the humor a lie. 

Daine hesitated. Was Jack a danger to Kitten? He was a liar and a thief, but he was no mage: without magic, there was very little he could do to actually hurt her. She could defend herself well enough, from a mortal man.

“Alright,” Daine replied, after a moment's thought. It was far too early in the morning for Jack’s confusing game of truth and lies. She had other things to tend to--such as clothing. She needed to put on some clothing. “Be good, Kit,” she told the dragon firmly. Kit whistled happily and nodded, clinging to Jack.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Jack said. “And sorry,” he added, gesturing to the floor where he found them. Daine and Numair glanced at each other and, as one, turned scarlet. Jack closed the door and walked off, still holding Kitten.

“Well,” Numair said into the sudden silence, “that was a mood killer.”

Daine laughed. She reached down to help him up and he took her hand. “Sorry, laddybuck.” She wrapped her arms around his middle after he stood, and laid her head on his chest.  He let out a gusty, content sigh at the affection.

Numair cuddled her. “There’s always tonight,” he murmured, resting his cheek on her hair. He held her for a few quiet seconds longer and then released her. “I think Kitten’s enamored with Jack,” he said, breaking their moment.

“That’ll never work,” Daine chuckled. She kissed his cheek and walked over to get her clothes for the day. “She’ll break his heart.” She paused thoughtfully. Kit had seemed—infatuated. She didn’t respond to people like that, on the whole. Was Jack somehow conning her? No—he had seemed truly, terribly uncomfortable. Still. Kit was just a baby, and Jack was a very talented liar. Daine resolved to keep an eye on it. 

A shirt appeared in front of her eyes. Daine blinked.

“Lost in thought, sweet?” Numair teased. Daine smiled at him and took the shirt. She’d tell him later, Daine decided. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t get many private mornings with Numair after this for a fair amount of time. Kit would be okay for a half hour or so.

They played and roughhoused and readied themselves and, as predicted, Alanna pounded on their front door.

“We’d’ve definitely had enough time,” Numair muttered to no one in particular as she bellowed for them to come out. He tucked the packet of eyebright in his pocket. Daine chuckled and opened the door.

“Good morning! We heard from Jack that Tkaa came back and dropped Kitten off,” she said by way of greeting.

Alanna nodded. “Yes, and then he was on his way again. He looked rushed— apparently it was urgent. Where’s your friend?” She looked down the hall to Jack’s door, which was ajar, clearly indicating that he’d gone somewhere. Daine was about to explain, when the man himself interrupted her.

“Right here,” Jack said from behind Alanna. She jumped and spun in alarm.

“You walk quietly,” she accused.

Jack shrugged. He was still holding Kitten awkwardly. It wasn’t enough for Kit to notice but Daine, standing far enough away, could see the strain in his neck. There was definitely something odd about this, she thought. He wasn’t trying to fool anyone—the discomfort was real. “It’s the shoes,” Jack confided. “From a place called Paelor – they muffle noise.”

“Is this a place or is this a planet?” Numair asked. Jack went very tense, eyes narrowed. Daine saw his eyes dart to Numair’s hands, both free. He hadn’t started using the eyebright yet. Giving Jack the benefit of the doubt, probably. “You can tell her, Jack,” the mage said.

Jack let out a breath. “Guess that cat’s out of the bag,” he said wryly. “It’s both,” he added, looking resigned. He knelt to put Kit back on the floor. The dragon shrilled a protest, clinging to him. “It’s a country on the planet Scayla,” he said over the noise.

Kitten, with two feet on the ground and her front paws clinging to Jack’s tunic, scolded Alanna. The Lioness huffed at the baby dragon.

“What did I do? It’s not _my_ fault he’s nervous,” she told the dragon.

“I am not nervous,” Jack said indignantly, shifting Kitten firmly to the floor. “The fewer people who know about me the better. Bad things tend to happen to my friends.” He stood to meet Daine and Numair’s eyes with his steely blue ones. Kit whistled sadly and grasped his breeches.

“Well, that’s nothing I’m not used to,” Alanna said. “Protecting the realm is actually my job. I'm a knight - you said that was _brilliant_. It's not just a pretty title. You really don’t have to worry about my welfare.”

Jack shook his head, looking away. Kitten cheeped at him, and he sighed. “Here,” he said to Daine softly, lifting the dragon again to pass her over. Kitten shrilled in protest, but Jack was firm. “You shouldn’t trust me with your children. Come on. Is there a conference room, or something? I’d rather not sit around a hallway.”

Daine took Kitten in her arms. The dragon squirmed and reached for Jack, but Daine held her fast. That was not the kind of thing a person lied about. What did Jack do to children?

Alanna considered Jack for a long moment and then nodded, leading the way down the hall. “This way,” she said.

“Is George around?” Numair asked after a moment. “I think it would be best if he heard this too.”

“No,” Alanna said. “He’s in Corus dealing with some old—friends of his. I can pass it on, though.”

Jack scowled. “So much for secrecy.”

“George has kept more secrets than I can keep track of,” Alanna snapped. “He’s perfectly trustworthy.”

Jack shrugged and muttered, “Your funeral.”


	16. Sixteen

This had gone straight to hell.

There were children involved. Jack resisted the urge to run fast and hard as they walked down the hall. He swallowed, stuffing shaking hands into his bespelled-coat’s pockets. _Calm_. He shouldn’t be staying here this long, with this much quiet in between moments, Jack thought, tamping down hysteria. They’d asked too much of him. They’d dragged out the truth, and now old grief touched his toes like an incoming tide: cold, damp, and inevitable. He’d stopped running for too long. He shouldn’t have stood still like this. If he ran, he could get away. If he _ran_ —

 _I’ve got a lot of dirt to shake off my shoes,_ he’d told Gwen. He hadn’t been lying.

The little dragon in Daine’s arms turned and cheeped at him. Her scales had started to turn gray, and Jack looked at her, hiding behind a familiar mask of humor and concealing sheer, unadulterated panic. Daine had been right. The young dragon, barely up to his knees on all fours, was incredible.

His grandson had been incredible, too. Jack pushed down the bile that rose sharply in his throat. It was easier to live with himself, if he didn’t remember what the child had been called. Jack forced the horrific memory away and looked around desperately for a distraction.

A thought abruptly passed mind as his eyes fell once more to the dragon. Kitten is an Immortal, he realized. If nothing kills her, she’ll never die.

She’ll _never_ die _._ Safe, _she’ll live as long as you do._ Jack did not tremble. “You shouldn’t let her come, it probably won’t be safe,” he told Daine weakly.

“I don’t think she’ll let us go without her,” Daine replied, and Jack winced at her apparent unconcern. _You don’t understand,_ he wanted to shout, but of course he kept his mouth shut. _You don’t understand!_

Kitten was the perfect sacrificial lamb, and it sent chills up and down Jack’s spine. It was so often children, Jack thought with terror. When things went wrong for him, it was children who got hurt, children who got sacrificed. From his grandson stretching all the way back to when Jack was mortal, and had accidentally crossed paths with a boy named Jamie-- _why was it always children?_  

He never should’ve left that merchant ship. Those people were rotten, and the more of them that died the better. These Tortallans were _good_. He had to get out of here.

Alanna led them up some stairs and down some more, thoroughly twisting Jack around. He wanted to run. Screw the coat spell; he could bargain it away later. Right now, there was another child, whose blood would surely end up on his hands, and it terrified him down to his core. But his acting was good; he followed Alanna, Daine and Numair placidly. Numair’s hands were at his side, and not in his pockets. He could lie, as long as that damned eyebright stayed where it was.

 They reached a room that looked like a library. A servant was just laying out a plate of breakfast in the middle of the largest table.

“Thank you,” Alanna told him. Jack barely heard her, scanning the room frantically for exits.

“My lady,” the servant murmured, and left with a bow. Alanna sat.

 Daine bent down and let the dragon down to the floor before sitting herself, and Numair followed suit. Jack slid carefully into a seat next to Numair, and tried not to flinch when Kitten hopped up onto a chair next to him.

“Alright,” the Lady Knight began, taking what looked like a pastry of some kind from the plate that the servant laid out. “Tell me everything.”

The words wound around his heart and clawed. Jack froze, eyes wild, and heard nothing but his grandson’s eerie, awful scream. Bargains with gods be damned--there was a door behind Alanna, on the other side of the room, just there; he could—

“We met Jack just outside my tower,” Numair started. His dark eyes found Jack's, and held. He took a breath, and Jack felt himself take one as well, mimicking him, holding his gaze. His heart was pounding, that terrible scream in his ears. 

But he was in Tortall. He was not on Earth. There was no reason to feel this panic. She didn’t even know to ask about the horror; she wanted what had happened since he’d reached this world. He forced himself to breathe, eyes still fixed on Numair’s. The mage was right there with him, stalwart and calm.

The table had gone silent while Numair held his eyes. Jack swallowed when he got his breathing back under control, a little embarrassed. He looked down and took a pastry. The food focused him into the moment, and, chewing, he let his monstrous memories fade away: back into the darkness, where they belonged.

Numair continued, “He’d been attacked by a spidren, and his coat was ruined. He stayed with us for a week while Mistress Carra – you know her, right? She’s a Gifted seamstress in Stone Hill – was fixing it.”

“I keep hearing about this Gift,” Jack interrupted, ruthlessly forcing himself to participate in the conversation. He needed this information; it was important to know about this world. “What is it?”

Alanna’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She swallowed her bite of pastry. “You’re really not from around here,” she said.

“No.” Jack shook his head. _Focus._

The Lioness raised a hand that began to glow violet. “The Gift,” she said simply, and Jack nodded to himself. That made more sense than it didn’t.

“I figured it was something like that,” he said. Deciding to continue with Numair’s tale, he said, “Alright then. While I was staying at their tower, I was… visited, I suppose, by a badger.” He shot an uneasy look to Daine.

“Alanna knows about the badger,” she assured him, and he nodded. “What she doesn’t know,” Daine continued, and Jack sank in his seat because Daine was ruthless, “is that Jack conned Mistress Carra—she fixed his coat and didn’t realize that he didn’t pay.”

“You didn’t!” Alanna blurted, and to Jack’s utter confusion she let out a bray of laughter.

“I—what?” Jack said, thrown.

“George has been trying to do that for _ages!_ ” Alanna hooted. “I keep telling him to give up and just pay for his shirts but he’s as stubborn now as he ever was. How did you manage it?”

Jack let out a breath that was almost a laugh. That was—surprising. “No sleight of hand,” he said weakly. “She’s too savvy. She likes charm. I just flirted.”

“And played up the wounded soldier act,” Numair said. “Which he was doing to us, too, before he made this bargain with the badger.”

Alanna sat back. She wiped at her eyes, still chuckling a little. “I imagine he was, yes. That’s why you have eyebright in your pocket, isn’t it, master mage?”

Jack swallowed. Alanna was going to be worse than Daine and Numair combined. He just knew it. She was just as clever and twice as stubborn. He was screwed.

Numair took the eyebright out of his pocked and put the little pouch on the table. “Yes it is. I also bespelled his coat: a minor truth spell. It doesn’t prevent lying, but it sort of—discourages it. He isn’t lying about the badger, nor about needing our help. Nor, even, about actually being a wounded soldier.”

Jack winced at that last one.

Alanna hummed thoughtfully and didn’t comment on the spell. “But why would the badger visit you?” The question was directed to Jack. He saw her reach over and put her own finger in that damned bag.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the eyebright or if he wanted to set it on fire.

“He struck a bargain with me,” Jack said, and then took the plunge. Daine and Numair had been open-minded enough, at least, and Alanna had the eyebright. “I’m—not from around here, obviously. I’m from a different world.”

Alanna’s eyebrows met her forehead for the second time, but she didn’t comment. She did, however, take her fingers out of the little pouch. Jack’s opinion of her rose considerably.

“He presented me with a problem,” Jack continued, “your world is cut off from the rest of the universe, in short. The Guardian of your Gates has gone missing, and the badger wants me to get him back, and to deal with anything that comes through the Gates in the meantime. The weevils came through before I got here; they’re not even from my world—I don’t know where they’re from, but I’ve dealt with them before. They’re part of the bargain, since they fell through. Daine and Numair,” here he nodded to them, “have agreed to help me, and specified that you can be trusted. So I’m trusting you.” He took a breath and carefully studied Alanna’s reaction.

“That’s a lot to take in,” she said, frowning. “But the most immediate problem is those weevils. What are they like?”

Gratefully, he started rattling off the facts. Facts he could do. “Six feet tall,” Jack said. “Man-shaped, with dark, rippled skin and four large primary canines. They have hinged jaws, so their bite is larger and stronger than it would seem at first glance, and they have low-level telepathy; they’re all connected to each other. Stronger than they look, faster than two legs would suggest. They lived in sewers, and they tended to be peaceful unless startled or threatened, living off detritus and the like. Every so often, though, one would go rogue. They’re dangerous when they’re cornered, or decide to go after fresh meat.”

“You said they responded to your friend,” Daine said. Jack cursed himself. Why had he even mentioned that? When would he learn to keep his mouth shut?

“Ye-es,” he said slowly. “Owen was something of a special case.” He repressed a flinch when the name slipped out. They weren’t even using the eyebright anymore. Damn his coat.

“How so?” asked Numair.

“He—” Jack took a deep breath. Oh, but he did not want to be talking about this. Not much of a choice now, though. “He was killed.” He hesitated.

This was a stupid idea. He really did not need this right now, not when he was already swamped with memories. Owen’s story was a tragic one, and not one that Jack particularly wanted to share. It was also something that sounded like a tall tale. “You’re not going to want to believe me. Put your finger back in the eyebright.”

Numair looked surprised, but did as asked.

“Right, okay,” Jack continued.  “We were stupid. There was this—glove. It brought people back to life, but only for a few minutes. We screwed up. _I_ screwed up. I brought Owen back, but it stuck.” He hitched a breath and kept his face blank and expressionless. “The weevils started responding to him then.”

“You brought someone back to life,” Alanna echoed slowly. “With a glove.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Numair said, though he still sounded skeptical. “That must have been some glove.”

“We destroyed the glove,” Jack said darkly. “Because Owen—it was awful. He couldn’t heal himself, you see, if he was hurt. His life functions had stopped. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t eat; he was just there. He tried to commit suicide a few times, but that didn’t work. He was stuck in this limbo.” And worse, Jack thought; with his second death, when he was eradiated, he still didn’t die. His body was destroyed, and he was still there; even now, he’d had to bargain with gods to rest in peace. Oh, _Owen_.

“That’s horrible,” Daine said. Jack nodded, very carefully keeping himself at least appearing composed.

“How did the weevils react?” Alanna asked. Her eyes were sympathetic, but Jack was absurdly grateful that she asked about the facts. That, he could do.

“They moaned and ran away from him,” Jack said, and cleared his voice when it cracked. “They bowed and scraped and cringed if he got too close. Like they were scared of him.”

“So they’re afraid of—things coming back to life?” Numair asked. Jack gave a bitter, hysterical bark of laughter, unable to contain it. The Tortallans looked at him oddly, but he shook his head at them.

“No,” Jack said darkly. “No, not at all. It was just Owen.”

Daine reached across the table and tried to take his hand, responding to the pain in Jack’s voice. He jerked away, refusing the comfort. If he took it, he would fall apart again. “Anyway,” he continued, “That’s about all I know, except for how to contain them.”

“How do you contain them?” Alanna asked. Her tone was businesslike. I like her, Jack decided, scrabbling to stay focused and not lose himself in his own past. She did not comment on the fact that Jack was crumbling to pieces.

“Cover their heads,” he replied, glad of the subject change. “We had an injection and a spray that used to do it, but I don’t think I can recreate either. Do you have tranquilizers?”

“What’s a tranquilizer?” Daine asked.

“Sleeping potions, spells,” Numair supplied. “And yes.”

Jack nodded. “Good. We can use those.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alanna stated flatly. Startled, Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Alanna cut him off. “I’m a knight of the realm, and I refuse to go back to Corus.”

“It’s that business with the new page, isn’t it?” Numair sighed. “The new girl. You’re not allowed to help.”

Jack blinked at the rapid change of topic. Alanna huffed. “Yes. And I need work. So I’m coming with you.”

“I suppose we can’t argue with that,” Numair said, and Jack gaped at him.

“Are you serious?” he demanded, suddenly furious. Why did people keep on insisting in putting themselves in danger on his behalf? It would only get them killed! “What is this, Lord of the Rings? We’re all going to go on a quest together?”

“Got a problem with that?” Alanna challenged. Jack stared at her.

“We’re trying to help you, Jack,” Daine insisted.

“I can’t imagine why,” Jack cried. “I _conned you_! You should have thrown me out! I ruin people’s lives! It’s practically all I know how to do!”

“Be that as it may,” Numair interrupted quietly, “This world is our home. It’s part of our job to protect it. You may have a bargain with the badger, so there must be some way that you gain by doing this, especially given the context, but the three of us—” he gestured at himself, Daine and Alanna, “we live here. We need this place. If there’s a new Immortal, it’s a duty to our _realm_ we are doing.”

“He’s right,” Alanna said. “We’re not following you. We’re taking you along as an adviser.”

“Because that’s so much better,” Jack spat sarcastically. Kitten, quiet up until now, cheeped. They all looked at her for a moment. Jack shivered and looked away.

“We’ll need supplies,” Alanna said, interrupting the silence that had fallen. “It’s a long journey. Come on, let’s see the kitchens. I have to say goodbye to my family, as well; they won’t be pleased.”

She has a family, Jack thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn’t say anything, but his heart felt like it had twisted in his chest. Just what he needed. More bloody children. And he _liked_ Alanna. He _had_ to stop liking people; this was going to end so badly.

That night, they gathered supplies and packed. Alanna ordered salt pork and more of those soup roll things, as well as skins of water. It was shaping up to be the start of a long journey and at dinner Jack felt the first stirrings of a sort of guilty excitement. He was going to have a team again. There would be four of them, and they were going weevil hunting, something he had enjoyed in Torchwood. Of course, he’d enjoyed it mostly because of Ianto, but that was beside the point.

They finished dinner reasonably early and Jack made some sort of excuse to get himself away. Alanna turned out to have three little ones, ranging from about eleven to nine. Jack ducked back into his room before he even got the chance to see them. It was for the best. The little dragon tried to follow him but he refused, and Daine took the hint.

“Stay here, Kit,” she told the dragon. “I want to know if you learned anything new with Tkaa.”

Relieved, Jack slipped out. Still tempted to run, he held himself in check and forced himself, reluctantly, to get some sleep. They would leave early tomorrow, and this would be the last comfortable bed he’d see for a while.


	17. Seventeen

“They respond to power, Jack.”

Jack blinked.

He was standing in the wreckage of Torchwood Three again, near the bay. There was rubble everywhere, and it was daytime, although the streets were eerily quiet. The great crater of the Torchwood Hub yawned from the center, and smoke still curled up from its depths. Owen Harper was sitting on an upturned stone that looked like it might have been part of the sidewalk, once.

“I’m dreaming,” Jack said, and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. The breeze from the bay was chilly, as it had always been, and he knew better than to question it. “Right. What responds to power?”

“Weevils.” Owen hopped down from his perch and strolled over. “They responded to me before I died.”

“They did what?” Jack stared at his dead employee. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you _everything_ ,” Owen said, coming to a stop, and crossing his arms. “It’s only from the kindness of my heart that I’m telling you now.”

Jack rolled his eyes, exasperated but fond. Owen, for all his sarcasm, was a welcome sight.

“Well, I don’t suppose I can fire you,” Jack said wryly, and Owen snorted.

“Not bloody likely.”

“When did they start?”

Owen cocked his head, thinking. “After that creepy fight club, when I got mauled. It bit me, and then I just knew.” He shrugged.

“You think the bite had something to do with it?” Jack frowned and paced a little, very quickly, once back and forth. “Some kind of DNA transfer? But we never noticed till you died.”

“Then it got more serious,” Owen supplied. “Then they did it whether I wanted them to or not. Don’t get me wrong, I have no bloody clue how to control them. But I know that they don’t like you if you’re an aggressor that they feel that they can’t beat.” He shrugged. “Who’s the chick with the sword?”

Jack chuckled. “This gives a whole new meaning to _watching over_.”

Owen grinned. “Yeah. Well? She’s hot. And why the hell are you so jumpy?”

 “I’m tired of people dying, Owen.” Jack sighed and sat down on a piece of rubble. He put his head in his hands.

“Oh, please,” Owen said. “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He walked over to Jack and kicked at the stone he was sitting on.

Jack picked up his head and glared. “You’re really a pain in the ass, has anyone told you that?”

“Gwen, actually.” Owen smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up now, Harkness. You _never_ give up.” His voice was harsh, but there was that small hint of a little boy begging a superhero in him. It was so very _Owen_ , all thick armor and sarcasm to hide the hurt beneath, that Jack couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m not giving up. I’m just tired,” Jack said. He scrubbed his face with his palm and then looked up.

Owen sighed and sat down beside him. “Too many lives to save,” the medic agreed regretfully. “It’s never enough.”

“No,” Jack murmured. “It isn’t.”

The two men sat in silence, and watched the dream sun descend from the sky.

\---

They left Pirate’s Swoop bright and early, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. Alanna, with a pointed glare to Daine and Numair, sent her husband and the king a messenger bird each, informing them of their departure.

“We’re not stopping in Corus,” the Lioness growled as she mounted her horse, a beautiful creature called Darkmoon. “I absolutely refuse.” She picked up the reins and the horse tossed its golden head, sending the dark mane streaming.

Jack took Red from a stable boy. “Why not?” he asked. Red wuffled happily at the sight of Jack, and Jack stroked his soft nose in greeting. “We’ll need supplies by then.” Red huffed in his face, his kind eyes gleaming, and Jack smiled at him before tossing the reins over the horse’s head and mounting up.

The Lioness glared and did not respond. Apparently, she was not a morning person.

“There’s a new page,” Daine told him when the King’s Champion rode off in a huff. “The first girl, after Alanna. The king’s forbade Alanna to get anywhere near her, for fear that it’ll look like Alanna helped her through.” She swung herself onto Cloud’s back and Kitten’s head poked up from a saddle bag. The dragon cheeped at Jack, and then went back down into the bag and presumably fell back to sleep.

“Oh,” Jack replied, ignoring the chill at the sight of Kitten. He picked up his reins and focused on Red’s breathing. “And I take it that she’s not a morning person?”

“Not really, no,” Numair agreed dryly, and nudged a long-suffering Spots into a clumsy trot. Daine rolled her eyes, following on Cloud.

“Numair, for Mithros’ sake, would you sit straight? You’re going to kill poor Spots’ back at this rate,” she scolded, but it was in good humor.

Jack sighed and looked down at Red’s neck. Someone had groomed him; the dappled gelding’s hair fairly shone in the early sunlight. “What d’you say, my friend,” Jack asked, “should we follow them, or run off into the woods?”

Red huffed and answered him, picking up a trot and following Cloud.

“Yeah, alright,” Jack muttered. “It was just a thought.”

Red snorted, not amused.

\---

Pirate’s Swoop was an eight day ride from Corus at a slow pace, although one could make it in four, if one rushed. Dawdling could prove disastrous if what Jack said about weevils was true, though rushing would tire the horses. They moved at a reasonable clip.

The first night, they gathered around a fire, cooking three fish on a spit. Kitten was sitting at Jack’s feet, playing with small stones. Numair watched him keenly. Daine had mentioned Jack’s odd response to Kit, and now that he was paying attention he could see it, too. Jack leaned away from the dragon, just a little bit, and while he seemed relaxed enough there was something odd about the look in his eyes. Jack had two faces: the cheer, which was both his disposition and the mask he wore, and the deep, all-consuming sorrow, which was real but often used to manipulate. Needless to say, it made him difficult to read. Something about Kitten was making Jack nervous, though, and that reaction seemed very real.

“Hold on, you’ve lost me,” Jack was saying. “I thought the Immortals _weren’t_ imprisoned.”

“Not anymore,” Alanna explained, leaning over to turn the spits. “They used to be. These are almost done, by the way,” she added, indicating the fish.

“Good,” Numair said, “I’m hungry. Anyway, a few years ago, the Emperor of Carthak had the Barrier between the Divine Realms and our realms lowered,” he told Jack. “It released them, and started the Immortals War.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “A Barrier?”

“It trapped them in the Realms of the Gods,” Daine explained, and pulled up the spit to examine the fish. “When the Barrier lowered, a lot of them came here. Actually, Numair, I think these _are_ ready,” she added.

Numair peered over to examine the fish, wrapping an arm around her waist and setting his chin on her shoulder. She smiled up at him and shrugged up into his chin playfully. “Looks fine to me, sweet,” he said, and moved away to lift the spit off the fire.

“Must’ve been chaos,” Jack said, an odd note in his voice at Numair’s casual display of affection. Numair glanced over at him. Jack pulled a knife from his pocket and offered it to Daine, so she could cut the fish. She smiled at him and held up her own knife.

“It very nearly was,” Numair replied. He glanced at Daine, who was busily cutting up the fish. There wasn’t really any harm in telling Jack about Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, almost breaking through into the mortal realms, but it was an uncomfortable topic.

Jack, however, did them a favor and added thoughtfully, “Could you create such a barrier, Numair?”

Numair frowned, distracted from his musings on Jack’s odd expression. Was he strong enough to do such a thing? Not alone, certainly. If he had the right tools, perhaps, and the right help and the right books—he didn’t know the spell, although they had studied it in Carthak, when he had been a student there. “Yes,” Numair said when he realized that Jack was looking at him expectantly and Alanna had rolled her eyes, “But I’d need help, and then I’d probably be sick for days. You’re thinking about the Gates, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, that odd term he used to mean _yes_. Numair had never heard the like, before Jack. He wondered where it came from. “I’m thinking we could use you to close them. I can probably find some way to get you extra power, if you needed it. Still, I’d rather just find your Guardian, because I’d like to be able to _leave_ after I’m done here.” He scowled for a second, tapping a finger into the grass. “If I had access to a computer—I’m useless in this era.” Kitten chattered at him, scolding. Jack glanced at her nervously.

“Access to a what?” Alanna asked, reaching to help Daine cut the fish. Numair looked at Jack with interest; Alanna had stolen the question before he could say it.

“A—never mind.” Jack said. “They’re hard to explain. A device that can crunch numbers rapidly, although they can do more than that.” He seemed to think about it for a moment, but then gave up. “I don’t have any way to get one, though.”

“Could you build one?” Daine asked. She’d cut him a piece of fish. Numair smiled at her in thanks and took it. She quirked a smile back and then tucked into her dinner, passing pieces to Kit. Numair took a bite. It wasn’t bad, actually.

“Don’t have the parts,” Jack said. Numair chewed and wondered what kind of parts that Jack could need, but Alanna interrupted before he could ask.

“How could you get Numair extra power? You’re not going to steal it, are you?” Her voice had taken an ominous tone. Numair frowned at her. He swallowed. Jack was a good con, it was true, but stealing power not only took finesse – it took a kind of _malevolence_ that Jack just didn’t seem capable of.  

“No,” Jack said. “I told you I made a bargain with the badger. I can just ask for it; your gods are willing to provide help, should we need it. It _is_ their Gate, after all.”

Numair stared at him in shock. “You—have the favor of the gods,” he said at last. “ _All_ of them?”

Jack shrugged, apparently not appreciating the fact that he had the favor of _all the gods,_ or understanding what that entailed. Whatever the reason, his voice was very offhand when he said, “they want their Gate closed. It’s the only reason that they let me stay. Frankly, if they’d asked me to leave, I’d’ve done that as well. But I have—a good history, with this sort of thing,” he added darkly.

Numair, distracted again, blinked at his tone. Never mind that he apparently did not realize the sort of power he had with the favor of the gods—how could anyone possibly have experience with open Gates? “You do?” Numair asked. Daine glanced at him and caught his eye – it seemed he’d taken the words right out of her mouth.

Jack looked down at his plate “I lived on a rift in time and space for years,” he muttered. He poked his fish. “Things from other places just bled through. That’s how we got the weevils, although I have no idea how they got here.”

“A rift in time and space,” Numair repeated with wonder.  He’d put the eyebright away. That was a mistake. Getting it now would cause a scene; he’d noticed the way Jack went stiff when Numair used it. But every far-fetched thing Jack told them was true: it was the mundane things he lied about. Numair took him at his word. 

Kit whistled very softly, eyes fixed on Jack. Her scales had turned gray-edged, but Numair did not notice, mind lost in the implications.

“What does that even mean?” Alanna asked.

“A crack,” Numair said softly, “Right? A crack in time?”

Jack nodded without speaking, and began to eat, eyes downcast.

“That must’ve been fair confusing,” Daine said, “if you had things from other eras appearing and disappearing.” That was his Daine, Numair thought, affection for her swelling in his chest. Always practical.

Jack didn’t respond for a moment, but then he said reluctantly, “It was more like an ocean. Like tides coming in and out, bringing things and taking them away, but not nearly as regular.”

“Is that why you left?” Alanna asked gently. “Were you swept away?”

Jack’s head snapped up and his heated reply was filled with more self-loathing than Numair had imagined that Jack could contain. “Everyone died. I couldn’t stay.” He got up very suddenly, putting his plate aside. “Thanks for dinner, Daine. I need some air.” Jack strode off into the night.

“Jack!” Daine stood, startled. “You can’t go walking at night! It’s dangerous—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack snapped.

“At least let one of us come with you,” Numair said, concerned at the man’s sudden withdrawal, rising as well. Kitten whistled loudly.

“No.” Jack’s voice was firm and he turned, striding purposefully into the forest.

Daine glared after him. “I’ll follow him.”

“Magelet—” Numair started, but he was too late. An opossum was wriggling out if Daine’s clothes and scampering after Jack. Kit chattered at Daine, scolding. Her gray edged scales had turned pink with alarm. She made to go after Daine, but Numair grabbed her.

“Watch her, Alanna,” Numair said, moving to hand the struggling dragon over.

“Let Daine go, Numair,” Alanna told him, gripping his arm.

“Are you serious?” Numair said. Kit chattered in agreement, struggling in his arms. He clutched her tighter and she shrilled in protest.

Alanna squeezed his shoulder. “She’ll be fine. Jack’s the one that needs the help; he doesn’t know what’s out there.”

Numair didn’t really have a response to that, because Alanna was right. If anyone could go wandering in the forest at night, it was Daine. Every animal would come to her rescue, if she came across something like a spidren, and even if they didn’t, she could still certainly take care of herself. 

“I don’t have to like it,” Numair muttered and he sounded sulky even to himself. He paced, clutching Kitten tight to his chest. She was warm and her scales were soft and eventually she gave up protesting, though she didn’t stop muttering indignantly at him.  

“Of course not,” Alanna said, “But the more of us that go out there, the less of us there will be here to get them out of trouble when they get hurt.”

Numair sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He put Kit down and sat, head in his hands, beside Alanna. The dragon trilled and looked wistfully out into the woods. “Don’t you dare,” Numair told her. “I stay, you stay. Daine’ll never forgive me if you go out on your own.” The dragon huffed and sat beside him morosely. There was a silence.

“He’s hurting,” Alanna stated the obvious after a moment. She did not need to specify.

“Yes,” Numair agreed. “That’s why Daine and I took him in. It was a very convincing con because he really is hurting. I think he loved this place where he lived.” He glanced over at her.

“And everyone died,” she murmured. “How horrible.”

“Yes,” Numair said, thinking of the morning that he and Daine were roused out of bed because Jack was shouting to Gainel, furious and miserable because he had dreamed of a dead man. “I think it was horrible.”


	18. Eighteen

The forest was clearly old, and though the moon was waxing and soon to become full, it was dark enough to obscure Jack’s vision. The great trunks of the trees were little more than formless shapes, the leaves only shadows. He trudged on, squinting to see the roots that twisted on the forest floor. The night was cool and soothing, and Jack did his best to shove everything away.

Jack tensed at the sound of a cracking branch behind him. He jumped and spun when he felt something hard and strong brush his shoulder blades. As he turned, drawing his revolver, he caught sight of dappled fur and the glinting brown eyes. It was Red. Tethers were rather unnecessary, given Daine’s power, but even still, the horses tended to stay close to camp.

“Red,” he said, straightening, and tucking the gun away. “I thought horses liked to stay in groups.”

Red huffed, as if disagreeing. He rested his nose on Jack’s shoulder and then, to Jack’s shock, drew back and bit him, hard.

“Ow!” Jack cried. “What was that for?” The horse snorted derisively, flicking his ears. “You’re scolding me for wandering off,” Jack muttered, rubbing his shoulder and straightening out his coat. The protection spells held; the shoulder pad wasn’t even damp from Red’s mouth.

The horse glared at him.

“It can’t be that dangerous,” Jack told him, and continued his walk. Red, of course, followed at his shoulder. “I mean, seriously. Spider people, and Immortal things in the dark? Please. It can’t be any worse than weevils in the sewers. Or—or, hell, my own brother.” He laughed bitterly into the night, his breath fogging in the chilly evening air. “Or John bloody Hart.” Jack scowled and stepped over a root. Red nickered, sounding concerned.

“I couldn’t stay there,” Jack told the horse, unsure if he was talking about Torchwood or the fire pit, where Alanna’s questions had started to hit close to home. Perhaps it was both. “It was too—” he sighed. “I couldn’t stay. Besides, it’s a nice night and I bet you if we reach a clearing, we’ll be able to see the stars, whaddya say, Red?”

The horse nudged his shoulder chidingly.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, stopping short and looking around the shadowy forest. The wind whispered through the leaves, which cast eerie shadows. “I don’t suppose there are any clearings nearby, huh? Pity.”

Red regarded him, ears pricked forward and eyes sparkling in the faint moonlight. His dappled coat was emphasized in the darkness, white and gray hair creating c-shaped patterns down his unsaddled back. The gelding looked magical in this light, like a child’s fantasy. Jack sighed and reached out to stroke the horse’s soft nose, and memories rose around him like morning mist.

“He would’ve loved you,” Jack whispered, throat suddenly thick. The name of his grandson stood on the tip of his tongue, sharp and painful as a razor blade. Tortall was a terribly cruel place, to have dug it all up. “You have to understand. I had no other choice.” He looked away, hand slipping from Red’s nose.

But Red followed his hand, great neck arching downwards to gently lip at his palm. Jack smiled weakly at him and they shared a quiet moment. Then, from depths of the dark forest, a twig snapped.

Red’s head jerked up, ears pricked forward. His muscles went stiff. Jack pulled out his revolver.

“Who’s there?” he called into the night. Red snorted nervously and the wind whispered through the leaves. Jack looked at his horse. “Go back to camp,” he said. “Tell Daine there’s something in the forest.” The dappled gelding stared out, ignoring him. “Red!” Jack hissed.

Red looked down at Jack, then bared his teeth and flattened his ears, a refusal if Jack ever saw one.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jack said. “You’re a horse, and I’m armed just fine. Now go!”

There was no response and then, suddenly, Red squealed, spinning and rearing. Jack whirled.

It was a spidren, of course. The great black spider had a man’s head, teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Something small and white hurled itself out of a tree, transforming mid-leap into a bird, flapping at the creature’s face. “Run!” it cried in Daine’s voice.

“Daine, get out of the way!” Jack snapped, and Daine didn’t need telling twice. The bird leaped free, and the spidren reared, exposing some kind of spinneret; Jack shot it once, and once was all he needed. The loud _crack_ of the gun echoed in the night, scaring birds and bats out of trees. The Immortal made a choking sound as the bullet passed clean through its neck, and then, slowly, it fell over, legs jerking as it died. Red gave a small, alarmed whinny.

“I _told_ you to run,” Jack growled at his horse, gun still drawn. Then he called, “Daine?”

A bat fluttered at him. Jack, slightly bemused, held out his other hand and it landed, upside down, grasping his fingers with tiny claws. “Are you alright?” it asked in Daine’s voice.

“Yes. Were you following me?” Jack flipped on the safety one-handed and jammed the gun back into his belt. He checked his pocket; he didn’t have any other bullets, besides the four left in the barrel. Jack cursed quietly.

“We should get back to camp,” the Daine-bat said, still gripping onto his other hand. “There are three more, and one of them is female. Red, are you alright?”

The horse huffed.

“He says that you should take better care of yourself,” Daine said and Jack scowled. “And that yes, it is that dangerous.”

“You were eavesdropping,” he said angrily as they made their way back to camp. Daine was so small and fragile like this, clinging upside-down to his hand. He was furious, but he made sure to keep his hand steady.

“No,” Daine replied. “I was too far away. I was just there to make sure that you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Jack stormed over the roots that twisted on the ground, Red huffing to keep up with his angry stride. “I’m armed, in case you’ve forgotten,” he told the Daine-bat. “I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t wander alone at night,” Daine said, firm. “Even _I_ don’t like to do it, and the entire population of forest animals would come to my rescue, if I asked them to.”

Jack scowled again, and they walked in silence. Finally, when the campfire flickered visibly through the trees, Daine spoke.

“I’m sorry Alanna brought up your past,” she said quietly. “I’ll have a talk with her, alright? Unless you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jack muttered. Red nickered behind him.

“He says that you should,” Daine said, still quiet.

“Tell him I say that I shouldn’t,” Jack snapped. They’d reached camp. Kitten broke away from Numair with a loud, angry whistle and raced towards them, chattering furiously. Daine sighed and took flight from where she was hanging onto Jack’s forefinger, coming to rest on Numair’s outstretched hand.

“Are you alright?” Numair asked, cupping the Daine-bat in his palm and holding her to his chest. Daine twittered at him.

Jack blinked and looked down when he felt something on his thigh. Kitten had reared up onto her hindquarters, her front paws braced on his legs. She proceeded to whistle and chatter shrilly at him, her scales turning red with fury.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Jack told the dragon weakly.

“You should,” Alanna said. Jack looked over. Firelight played off Alanna’s oddly-colored eyes, and her face was cast half in shadow. Numair was still exclaiming over Daine’s recklessness, and although Alanna’s voice was quiet, Jack heard her perfectly. “You scared us all.”

Red came up behind him and nudged his shoulder, hard enough for Jack to stumble forward. He turned around and glared at his horse. “I don’t need you all to worry about me,” Jack muttered, sitting down.

Kitten whistled again. She walked up to him and sat herself firmly in his lap. Jack took a deep steadying breath, looking wide eyed at the dragon-child that had attached herself to him. Oh, god, she needed to get off him, he needed to get _away_ …

“Like it or not,” Alanna told him, her quietly intense voice commanding Jack’s attention away from the child horrifyingly in his lap, “We’re with you, although I can’t imagine why if this is how you treat us. You need to stop the push and pull – you either want help with whatever is hurting you, or you don’t. I’m happy with both. Do us a favor and don’t force us to save you.” She looked at him, silently daring him to disagree. Kitten, in his lap, shrilled and nodded at him, apparently for emphasis.

Jack swallowed and tried not to tremble. Why was it that he always seemed to find people who would stand by him, even if he didn’t want them? “I can’t get rid of you, can I?”

“No,” Daine said, back in human form and clothed. “No, you can’t.” Numair tucked an arm around her protectively, but he met Jack’s eyes and nodded, slowly.

Jack looked down at Kitten in his lap and lost the battle; the tremor was clear in his voice. “We should go to sleep,” he said, instead of warning them. “We have an early day tomorrow.”


	19. Nineteen

* * *

“Jack.”

Jack scowled. “Owen, I’m never going to get any rest if you don’t leave me alone.”

The rubble of Torchwood Three, in all its glory, spread out around Jack’s dreamscape. It looked like early evening, and a mist was rising up off the bay. He found himself just to the left of the crater, close enough to see inside but far enough away that he was not in danger of falling. Owen was a little farther, almost obscured by the rolling fog. There was someone standing next to the medic, an indistinct silhouette that radiated power. Jack quirked an eyebrow and waited for them to come closer.

Owen shook his head as he walked into full view. “I’m not here to talk to you. This guy wants—no, sorry, did I _offend_ you?” He sneered at the shadow standing beside him. “Deal with it. Alright, fine,” he added, when it hissed at him, power shivering around it like heat from tarmac on a summer’s day. His voice mocking, Owen said, “ _Mithros,_ the God of the Sun and Shield, wants to speak to you.”

That was surprising, Jack thought to himself. Nevertheless, he kept himself calm and his voice amused as he replied, “Owen, don’t patronize the gods.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Owen hopped up onto the piece of upturned concrete and scowled down at the figure that walked beside him. “Speak, O Great One,” he said sarcastically.

The shadow lengthened and brightened, and then it blazed with light, bright enough to chase away the mist of Jack’s dream. A dark skinned man with a golden sword and spear stood where it had been. “I do not know why my brother puts up with you,” the god told Owen dryly, and the medic smirked.

“I made a bargain,” Owen said. Jack knew Owen very well and he could see where this was going. He stopped it before it got out of hand.

“As did I,” he said. “What is it you wanted—Mithros, did you say your name was? This isn’t the same Mithros that Numair swears by, is it?” Jack stuffed his hands casually in his pockets and ran an appraising eye up and down the god.

He was a good looking man, if you could call him a man, and Jack wouldn’t. Mithros had strong features, high cheekbones and a bare, muscular chest. His sword was rather long, Jack noticed with amusement, and he wondered dryly if the god was compensating. If not—well, he’d never done a god before.

That one time on Knaxos didn’t count; Saliopton was just an emperor everyone _thought_ was a god. Mithros was the real deal.

“The very same,” Mithros said, sharp and judgmental, as though he knew that Jack was running through a mental checklist. Who knew, Jack thought with amusement, maybe he did. “My brother has consented to allow me access to your dreams, as you will not be destroyed by my presence; will you allow me to show you what I wish?”

“Just the once,” Jack said, taking a wary step back. “I think I’m going to regret saying this, but I’d rather talk to Owen.”

“Harkness, I’m touched.”

“Shut up, Owen.”

“Very well,” Mithros replied, grave and vaguely disapproving. “I will show you.” He sketched a half circle with his arm, and Owen gave an indignant yelp as Jack’s dreamscape of Torchwood Three as well as Owen himself faded away.

“You didn’t hurt him,” Jack growled as the world melted back into view.

“Your friend is unharmed,” Mithros said offhandedly.

They were standing on a round, flat platform above the world. Jack looked down coolly, observing the planet. There was a storm over some islands to the east. If Mithros thought that this might impress Jack, he was mistaken. Jack had been traveling to distant worlds since he was hardly out of childhood; orbiting a planet, while pretty, was nothing new.

“Look out into the universe,” Mithros said, all godly grandeur, and Jack obeyed.

There was a shuttle drifting slowly toward them, venting something undoubtedly foul from one of its engines. It was vaguely elliptical in shape, some sort of propelling device jutting raggedly out from its back. As he watched there was a blazing golden light; the Gate, Jack thought. Brightness rippled across the barrier, and the shuttle passed through with a flash. Of course there was no sound in space, but somehow, standing beside Mithros, the silence was unnerving.

“It’s broken through,” Jack stated the obvious, his face turned away from the god. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Destroy it,” Mithros commanded. “We want them gone. When they fall into the world, I can direct them with wind and weather to land in your path; however, that is all I can do. They come from outside, and so we have no influence over them.”

“If they die,” Jack said, “will your Black God take them?”

“No. He cannot touch them. Their souls will slip from our world and into the beyond, and they will go to the darkness. We want them gone, Harkness.” Mithros scowled.

Jack nodded, watching the ship drift toward the planet. Around it, that stuff it was venting created fuzzy wisps that trailed the ship like gossamer. “I need more bullets for my revolver,” he said flatly.

“Show me your weapon,” the god commanded.

Jack passed the revolver over. “I’d like an unlimited supply, please.” His tone was cordial, but it was a demand, not a request.

“This is one of ten,” Mithros stated.

“Alright then,” Jack agreed, holding out the gun. “Stick a preservative on it as well and we’ll call it a deal.” It was a silly thing to use a favor on, really, but Jack liked his Webly. It was iconic, and frankly, the only one of his many weapons that he was even remotely comfortable using in Tortall. Bullets were easier to comprehend than lasers, and if the worst happened, there was only so much you could do with the knowledge of how to make a gun. It wasn’t good, but it was better than a laser.

Mithros passed the gun back. “It will last a thousand years,” he decreed, “and it will never run out of ammunition. So mote it be.” He snapped his fingers, and passed it back over. “Anything else?”

Jack regarded his revolver. “A thousand _linear_ years, I hope. It won’t need gunpowder, either? Or any kind of maintenance? ” He cocked back the barrel and was gratified to see it fully loaded.

“Yes. You’ll have to clean it every so often,” Mithros muttered. “But I believe you enjoy doing that, yes?”

Jack nodded. “No oil, no gunpowder, no bullets; it’ll never run out?”

“No.”

Jack grinned, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Excellent. I’ll get rid of your aliens, then.”

“Very good,” the god boomed and sketched another half circle with his arm. The image faded away. Jack had a moment’s glimpse of Owen’s supremely pissed-off face before everything went black.

Jack woke to a pale, foggy dawn. “Praise the lord and pass the ammunition,” he murmured, and rose for the day.

\---

Daine took Alanna aside the next day, riding out in front with her, far enough ahead that Jack and Numair could not hear. The Lioness arched an eyebrow but followed, nudging Darkmoon to a trot.

“He’s a bit sensitive,” Daine said after a moment. The loud sounds of their horses’ hooves drowned out her words, and Daine saw Alanna straining to hear.

“Jack? I’d noticed,” she replied wryly. “Do you know what happened to him?”

Daine shook her head. “No. He used to live somewhere, and then he left. I don’t know why, but it was something bad. Someone died, I think, but I don’t know who he was to Jack.”

“He?” Alanna asked. Daine shrugged.

“Red keeps on saying that Jack misses his friends,” she said, “although he won’t say anything else. Cloud’s convinced that he’s a wolf.”

“A _wolf_?” Alanna said, incredulous. “Is that a good wolf, or a bad wolf? I know how you see wolves, Daine, but that isn’t necessarily how everyone else feels.” Her purple eyes were dark and wary.

“Bad wolf,” Daine muttered to herself. Those words rung a little bell in her head; there was an image of a blonde girl, glowing golden… Daine shook her head. “No,” she added to Alanna. “The Bad Wolf’s cub, she says. I keep on dreaming—” she paused, the image wavering in the forefront of her mind.

Alanna frowned. “Dreaming?”

 _I am the Bad Wolf…_ the words echoed in her mind and then vanished like the wind. Daine reached for them but they were gone. She shivered.

“There’s a goddess in my dream,” Daine said slowly, “But I’ve never seen her before, not anywhere, and Numair doesn’t know who she is, either. She keeps on saying the same thing, over and over, but I can never remember what it is.”

“A goddess called Bad Wolf?” Alanna said, intrigued. “I’ve never heard of her. What does she look like?”

“I can’t really—” Daine bit her lip and concentrated. “Golden,” she said, “and she’s crying.”

“And she’s his—what, his mother?”

“No.” Daine said, looking down at Cloud’s shaggy mane. “I don’t really know.”

“It’s a pity we can’t just ask him,” Alanna muttered sourly.

Daine shook her head. “You’d scare him off,” she said. Jack’s attitude was deceiving; he was all charming smiles and bright eyes but the truth of him was deep pain, and he even used that as a lie. It gave her a headache, trying to decipher him.

But if nothing else, Daine understood a painful past. She also knew that they could help Jack, if only he would let them.

Alanna scowled. “I’m really not good with this sort of thing,” she said.

Daine chuckled a little. “I know. Me neither. But he’s got a good heart. I think,” she added.

“Yes he does, I can see that.” Alanna said. That was kind of a relief. Daine’s instinct told her that Jack was a good man, but experience suggested otherwise. Alanna was an expert in rogues, though, and she thought Jack had good in him, too. They rode in silence for a moment.

“He must’ve done something,” Daine mused. “But I can’t imagine what.”

“We’ve all done something, Daine,” Alanna said darkly. Daine sighed.

“I suppose.”

There was a silence.

He speaks to Red, Cloud told Daine after a moment.

I know, Daine replied silently. But he trusts Red. I’d rather he tell us because he wants to, instead of making Red tell. Otherwise it just isn’t fair.

The pony thought about it. He should just tell you, she said sourly. It would help him, just as it helped you. Two-leggers are stupid.

Yes, Daine smiled. They are.

Daine?

Daine blinked at Red’s hesitant voice, and slowed Cloud’s trot, looking back. Alanna, looking confused, slowed with her. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s Red,” Daine explained. Yes? She brought Cloud to a stop and turned back, looking over her shoulder.

Daine. Tell Jack I smell gunpowder. The dappled gelding pranced uneasily, much to Jack’s apparent confusion. Then Red squealed in fright, and Jack’s yip of surprise was drowned out by the harsh sound of the horse’s hooves as he suddenly bolted down the road.

Daine urged Cloud to follow and the mare obeyed, breaking into a gallop as well. Red! Daine called to him, stop running, it’s alright!

Alanna came close behind on Darkmoon, gesturing to Daine. They split up, Alanna on one side and Daine on the other, trying to crowd Red into stopping.

No it’s not! Red cried hysterically, threatening to buck as the two horses closed in beside him, No, it’s all wrong!

“Easy there!” Jack pulled back on the reins and, with a fair amount of ingenuity for someone who claimed to have not ridden in ages, pulled Red to the side. The frantic horse’s head turned where Jack pulled him, and his forward motion was halted. He pranced, clearly terrified, and reared up, squealing and striking out at Darkmoon with his hooves. “S’alright, what’s gotten into you? Easy!” Jack protested, clinging to his mount’s neck. Darkmoon squealed back, ears flat and huffing, but he backed down.

“He says he smelled gunpowder,” Daine said, pulling Cloud to a halt and leaping off her back. She dodged over to the gelding and grabbed his bridle, ducking the flailing hooves and pulling him down. “Easy, Red,” she muttered. What happened?

There was gunpowder, the horse gasped, eyes rolling. I can smell it, it’s there, I—

Daine— Cloud’s voice cut in uneasily. Her head was up and her ears perked as she looked around, nostrils flaring. I can smell it too.

“Please don’t run, Cloud,” Daine said firmly, not turning from Red. Her pony snorted.

I’m not going to run, she replied indignantly.

Is that what that smell is? Spots said nervously as Numair rode toward them.

“Is everyone alright?” The mage asked, panting as Spots slowed from his canter to catch up. “Jack, what happened?”

“Everyone’s smelling gunpowder,” Daine told him, frowning. She reshaped her nose to that of a hyena, inhaling deeply. Red jerked in response to the sudden change, but she held him firm.

 _RedJack(is it just me or does Jack smell particularly odd? Red’s right_ )

_TreesgrassNumair(Beloved)—_   
_deerandbirdsandsquirrelsand_   
_marmotsallpassedbywithintheweek_   
_SpotsDarkmoonAlannaCloud_

_Something acrid and harsh that could only be—_

“Jack,” Daine said, eyes still closed, “Let me see your revolver. I need to make sure I smell the right thing.”

Something hard and wooden touched her shoulder. “The safety’s on,” Jack warned, “But be careful anyway. Point the barrel away from yourself, please.” Daine reached up and took it, concentrating. She inhaled deeply, checking the revolver’s smell against that of the air.

_Gunpowder._

“They’re right,” she said, reshaping her nose and opening her eyes. “The place reeks of it. Here.” She passed the weapon back up to Jack, who looked thoughtful.

“That’s wrong,” he said, sniffing the air himself, although the smell was too faint for human noses. “You lot don’t use gunpowder, unless…” he paused. “We should go check it out,” he said decisively after a moment.

“So we’re a ‘we’ now?” Alanna asked, and Jack glared.

“Well, since you won’t leave me alone, I suppose we are,” he said, picking up Red’s reins. 

“What about the weevils?” Daine asked.

“This is more important,” Jack said.

“How so?” Alanna said. “I’m not particularly thrilled with him at the moment, but we’re here on orders from the king to investigate the weevils.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “The weevils are urgent. They’ll kill, certainly. But gunpowder’s an anachronism. Weevils will kill individuals; anachronisms can destroy whole societies. I’ve seen it. Trust me. This is more important.”

Alanna deliberated.

“He’s right,” Daine told her. “Or, I think he’s right. He explained it before. It’s like—invasive species. They eat all the food and the locals all starve.”

“It’s like—” Jack swallowed. “Okay, once upon a time in a world I lived on, they discovered something neat about energy. They figured out how much energy was contained in physical things, like rocks and stones and you and me. It’s a really simple equation and really important to a developing society. But they didn’t realize the power of it. Instead of using it for new technology, they made explosives out of it, but they didn’t realize how devastating the explosion could be, since they didn’t really understand the implications of the equation in the first place.”

Daine blinked at him. “What?”

“Oh,” said Numair. “I see.”

“Do you?” Alanna asked, but she sounded amused. “Because I have no idea what he just said.”

“Yes, it’s a concept you learn in magecraft,” Numair said.  “Daine, remember when I transformed Tristan Staghorn into an apple tree? It had a consequence.”

“Yes,” Daine said. “Somewhere an apple tree turned into a two-legger. What does that have anything to do with it?”

“Oh,” Jack said. “Yeah, you do get it. Wait, you turned someone into a _tree_?”

“Jack’s saying that it’s tempting to use a spell like that, but if you don’t know the consequences it could be devastating,” Numair continued, ignoring Jack. “These anachronisms are similar - tempting, but without knowing the consequences, using them is dangerous. He’s right. We should investigate this.”

“Or all over trees would be turning into men,” Daine said, amused. “Alright. Let’s go see about this gunpowder. Alanna?”

She thought about it. “Alright,” she said at last.

I don’t like this, Red muttered uneasily as Daine relinquished his reins to Jack.

Head up, Darkmoon reassured him. We’re all together aren’t we? We’ll fight them if we have to.

Daine sighed and patted Red’s cheek. “It’ll be alright,” she told him. “Jack’ll take care of you. He’s scared,” she added to Jack, who blinked down at his mount. He stoked Red’s neck, suddenly looking concerned.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, although Daine didn’t know whom he was reassuring. She sighed again and got back onto Cloud. Reshaping her nose, she sniffed the air. “This way,” she said and led them off the road, following the scent deep into the woods.


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed trigger warnings at the start.

Gunpowder, Jack mused as Red picked his way through the roots on the forest floor. Why gunpowder? Absently, he stroked his horse’s neck. The dappled gelding, getting more agitated as Daine led them closer to the smell, seemed to appreciate the gesture.

Gunpowder did not belong in Tortall anymore than Jack himself did. If Jack’s job was to get rid of anachronisms, then this was a big one. It probably had to do with the ship that Mithros had shown him. It was a propellant. Perhaps they used it as fuel?

Who used gunpowder as fuel?

Sulfur, charcoal, potassium nitrate. Low explosive. Cheap, in some places, and not very efficient. Worse than gasoline, in its way. Better to use Uranium, or fusion or something. Still, some people probably did. Gunpowder, gunpowder… Who would use gunpowder…?

The horses crashed through the underbrush, the humans on top on them silent and wary. Jack ran through species and races his head, scrolling down a mental checklist. Who the hell used gunpowder? He glanced over anxiously to check on his companions.

Alanna, to his left, was silent and grim-faced, sitting tall. Her mount had bunched up his neck, lifting his feet high in the stately, powerful walk of a trained warhorse. Numair, a little in front of them, was tense. His shoulders swayed alarmingly as Spots walked, bringing a small smile to Jack’s face. The mage really was a terrible rider.

But despite his poor equitation, Numair was radiating power. He seemed to be gathering himself, preparing. Jack’s small smile faded.

Daine, far ahead, was sniffing the air with some kind of canine snout slapped weirdly on her face. Jack hadn’t realized that her ability stretched that far. That was a handy skill to have, in any situation, really.  

Jack would be damned if he let anything happen to these people, he told himself grimly, sniffing the air himself. Of course, he couldn’t smell anything; his power, for lack of a better word, was nowhere near as useful as Daine’s. The trees began to thin, and beyond Daine and Cloud he could see a clearing. Something shifted in the tall grass. Jack fingered his revolver. Daine stopped her pony and glanced back at them.

Alanna looked over to Jack and hissed, “Can you hear that?”

Jack blinked at her. “Hear what?”

“That noise,” Numair agreed, glancing back. “Something—high pitched.”

Jack cocked his head and listened. The sound was faint and droning, unnoticeable until the others had pointed it out. It was a constant tone, a high whirring noise of working machinery. Jack recognized it: the humming of an engine, a sound so familiar that he’d learned to disregard it.

“Yes,” Jack murmured. Spots, on Red’s other side, snorted unhappily. The wind whispered, and suddenly picked up speed. It was all Jack needed. Yes, he thought derisively. It was the spaceship. He sniffed the air but still smelled nothing.

“Can you sense anything, sweets?” Numair was asking Daine, who was sitting up straight on Cloud, looking around and listening with some kind of animal’s ears perched on her head. The shape shifting thing really was strange, Jack mused with faint humor.

“Yes, but it’s odd,” Daine replied, voice distant. “It feels like—”

Kitten suddenly poked her head out of Numair’s saddlebag and cheeped, startling Jack. Daine looked back at her and then whipped her head around, facing the meadow beyond the trees. “Tkaa?”

Something gray and serpentine stuck its head out of the tall grass in the clearing ahead. An eight-foot lizard, which Jack vaguely recognized as the creature that had dropped off Kitten, approached and then stopped mid-stride, crouching to examine a rock that peaked out from under a tree root. Daine called the name again and the lizard looked up. Jack pulled his revolver from his belt uneasily.

“Something’s coming,” it said, voice whispery. Its eyes were a sort of rusty color, like iron left in water. Jack remembered them, from when he had very briefly laid eyes on the creature, as clear and sharp; now they were dull, as if the animal was sick. “I can smell it. Something, something—” The lizard looked left and right with a strange sort of desperation. It slipped out a forked, serpentine tongue in a gesture that reminded Jack of a junkie looking for a fix.

“Tkaa, are you alright?” Daine asked. “You feel off.”

“Very off,” the creature agreed. “I can’t see.” It took a deep breath. “Can you smell it?”

Gray bodies moved in the grass ahead and Jack nudged Red forward, past Cloud and the creature and up to edge of the forest. The breeze strengthened as he reached the edge of the trees. He looked out. The tall grass of the meadow whispered and swayed, teeming with creatures that looked like the great lizard behind him. Tkaa was not the only basilisk here.

“There must be hundreds,” Alanna breathed as Darkmoon came up alongside Red. Jack glanced at her, back at the creatures in the grass and then, a thought suddenly striking him, up at the sky. He scanned the bright blueness, squinting against the sun, then saw it—a dark, elliptical shape, so high in the sky that from Jack’s perspective it looked hardly larger than a bird.

He knew it would be bigger up close.

A gray cloud was trailing lazily from it, looking almost natural, but Jack knew better. He looked back at his companions, who were regarding him curiously.

“Numair, you said they eat stone?” he asked. The mage nodded.

“A great big metal spaceship,” Jack murmured, looking back up, “with gunpowder in the exhaust, drifting down…”

Even as he said it, there was a screeching sound of metal on stone. Every basilisk in the clearing, and there were quite a few, looked up, serpentine heads pointed to the sky. A chill went down Jack’s spine and Red danced a little, feeling his unease. Suddenly, the small speck in the sky became a large speck, dropping rapidly before coming to a shuddering halt. Now it looked about the size of a baseball bat.

It must’ve dropped a hundred, two hundred kilometers, Jack thought in alarm, and braced himself for the sound he knew must accompany such a dramatic change in altitude.

A great, thundering boom shook the forest and the basilisks, including Tkaa, scattered like leaves on the wind. The horses pitched and squealed in panic, and birds leaped into the air. A great wind blew the leaves on the trees, bending back the tall grass.

Jack clutched his reins to pull Red in. “Easy, easy,” he whispered. The horse, gasping in fright, whipped his head around to stare at Jack with one brown, rolling eye.

“Something’s wrong with their engines, or their anti-grav,” Jack told his gelding gently, reaching down and over to stroke one black-edged ear. “It just dropped; something must’ve broken. Relax. We’ve got it under control.”

“Engines? Anti-grav?” Numair gasped, barely controlling Spots. Daine had leaped off Cloud to stand at the painted gelding’s head, crooning to both horses. Kitten cowered in Numair’s saddlebags. Even Cloud looked afraid.

Darkmoon, the war horse, seemed to have gotten over it quickly. He stood straight and tall, ears flat back, looking angry rather than frightened. Alanna had drawn her sword.

“Propellers,” Jack told him and then addressed his other companions as well. “Things to keep them in the air. We have visitors.”

“The Gates,” Alanna said. “Someone’s come through?”

“It seems that way. Stay here,” Jack ordered, and urged a reluctant Red forward.

“Don’t even think about it,” the Lady Knight snapped, following on Darkmoon. “I’m a knight of the realm, and if I have to act as ambassador too then I—”

Her voice cut off as another thundering boom split the air. Jack jerked his head up as Red squealed in fright. Alanna gasped, and Jack could hear Daine and Numair making similar sounds of awe.

The ship had dropped farther, and now hovered less than a hundred feet from the ground, fully in their view and huge. For his part, Jack was not impressed. The ship had looked menacing from afar, but close up he could tell that it was a clunker. The paneling was scratched up, and it wheezed dark pollution onto the ground. There was writing on the side in Galactic standard, and as the ship descended further, he could read it with little problem.

ϡζϚϗЮѯ ӂՔ _א_ ֍ ֏ _؋ڭۅ_ ᶕ₰₹╝⸗ꜗ _ﻼ_

_We flee the wars of Malinb._

Panic and horror flooded down Jack’s spine. It was a refugee ship.

Shit.

Shit, shit, _shit._

Not invaders, which he could destroy without guilt. Not even explorers, or merchants, which he could kill and feel only vaguely guilty. He could even deal with colonizers without a problem, but _refugees_? Mithros, God of Sun and Shield, wanted him to kill _civilians?_

Jack’s breath stuck in his throat. It was the job, he told himself grimly. What kind of Torchwood Operative would he be, if he couldn’t do the job? He’d done worse things in his life.

… and what kind of conman would he be, something whispered from deep within him, if he didn’t get something out of the deal?

 _We want them dead, dearie,_ an old woman’s voice suddenly growled in his head. _We already made our bargain, unless you would like another one? I can find you something you’ve lost, for another favor…_

I don’t care, Jack thought back fiercely, get _out_ of my brain! He slammed all his defenses down at once, hopefully blocking out whatever meddlesome god that decided to play with him today. Cold fury suddenly filled him. _No._ His brain was _off limits,_ and if these damn, primitive gods demanded some sort of blood sacrifice then he wasn’t going to help them get it!

As the vessel descended into the meadow, the exhaust carpeted the ground. The basilisks crept around the edges of the trees, seeming entranced at the black smoke hissing from the sides of the ship. Jack gritted his teeth. Could there be a way to send that ship back up in the air?

Daine coughed. “That smells horrible,” she whispered. Jack glanced at her, and a feeling of fierce protectiveness swept through him so swiftly that he was almost winded.

Refugees could be dangerous, he thought.

“What is it, Jack?” Numair asked.

“They’re refugees,” Jack told him reluctantly, voice dark but truthful. “The writing on the side, that’s Galactic Standard. I can read it. It’s the war they’re running from, and their status.” He swallowed. Red stood stiff and nervous beneath him, and he hoped that the horse would not try to bolt again.

“Refugees?” Alanna said. “They don’t look like refugees to me. Daine, what are the basilisks doing?”

“It’s the smoke,” Daine replied, just as quiet. Her voice had a hypnotic, dreamy quality to it that made Jack feel uneasy. “It’s got little bits of stone in it. It brought them here, from miles and miles away—it came from the ship, but they’ve known it was coming for so long…” Kitten whistled softly.

“It must be like a drug,” Jack said, watching the ship tremble in the air. Slowly, ponderously, it started to descend again, grating like metal on stone. Three metal struts extended from the base of the ship as it lowered itself gracelessly, the pollution swirling around them as they touched the ground. Someone within turned off the anti-gravity, or whatever their equivalent was, because there was a shuddering, groaning noise as the ship’s weight came to rest on the struts. One of the struts was rusted almost through, but it held. Jack turned back to the others.

“Stay here,” he said, and held up a hand when Alanna made to protest. “You don’t speak Galactic standard,” he told her firmly, “And I don’t want to look threatening. If they hurt me, go back to your king and tell him they’re here. No, _listen to me._ You will not be able to fight them; you _have_ to negotiate. If more than one person goes down to meet them, they’ll think we’re hostile. I want to help repair their ship and send them on their way.”

That might have been a lie, and it might have been a truth. Jack didn’t know himself. Was he going to do the job, however unsavory it was?

It might be better if he could patch up their ship, he thought grimly. Do it fast, get them out of here, and then maybe get a few spare parts out of the deal. They might have the technology to fix his wrist strap, although he doubted it.

There was a sudden crash of thunder from nowhere and they all started. Jack scowled, knowing exactly what the sound meant. “Your gods want me to kill them,” he told his friends, and when exactly had they become friends? “But I don’t like to hurt civilians. I’ll be right back. _Stay here!_ ”

“Come back quickly,” Numair urged, and Alanna and Daine looked at him incredulously.

“You’re just going to let him go?” Alanna demanded.

“Alanna,” Numair’s voice was soft, “It doesn’t look alive to my magical vision. I can’t even see their life-forces, or the forces that make the ship work. Look at it!”

“I can’t feel it either,” Daine said uneasily. “They have animals with them, but I can’t—” She bit her lip. “They feel wrong, and I can’t hear them. I just—I just know they’re there. They feel like—like worms or beetles. I can’t talk to them.”

Kitten chattered in agreement, turning slightly pink with fear.

“You’re out of your depth,” Jack told them gently, and he felt a reluctant affection for them, all of them, these primitive people. “I’m going to go talk to them. Daine, I don’t know if this smoke will harm the basilisks.”

“I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to,” Daine admitted.

“Go,” Alanna ordered. “But hurry back!”

Jack nodded and slipped off Red, who nickered gratefully. The horse very obviously did not want to go. Jack squared his shoulders and walked out to the meadow. The rusty eyes of the drugged basilisks followed him dully as the pollution swirled around his feet.

 


	21. Twenty One

_-Listen to the sound.—_

_\--Smell the smoke.—_

_\--Can you hear it?—_

_\--Never heard it.—_

_\--Smells sssssoo good.—_

Daine was starting to get dizzy. The basilisks crept closer to the great metal vessel, and they whispered and sang as they moved. Their gray bodies swirled the smoke, so that it rose and fell in long, gray wisps. Even Tkaa, who burned brightest for Daine because she knew him well, seemed entranced. She swayed a little.

Stop listening to them, Cloud told her, closing her teeth onto Daine’s shoulder. Daine shook her head and leaned on her pony, the solid warmth bringing her back to the present. Kitten cringed in Numair’s saddlebag, whimpering. She whistled softly, scales a bright, fearful magenta. Daine reached out and picked her up, feeling wobbly. The dragon pressed herself close. She was shaking.

You’re right, Daine said to Cloud. Thank you.

He’s going to get hurt, Red moaned, tossing his head. The gelding gave a very small, high-pitched whinny, and it took Daine a moment to remember what he was talking about. She shook herself and looked out to see Jack walking through the smoke on the ground. It curled in gray eddies around his flapping coat. He’s going to get killed! Red cried.

He can’t get killed, Spots assured him. He’s immortal, remember?

It still hurts to die, Red shot back anxiously. Jack shouldn’t hurt.

Daine leaned heavily on Cloud, utterly overwhelmed.

“Sweet?” Numair slid from Spots’ back and came over to brace her arm. “You’re swaying.”

She blinked at him, feeling woozy. She loved him, Daine thought fuzzily. Beloved Numair, her mate. Why was he looking at her like that?

He’d asked a question, hadn’t he? She should probably say something.

“The basilisks,” Daine managed, pushing away from Cloud to lean on his chest. He was warm and solid, and he anchored her back into reality. “They’re singing, or chanting or something. It’s like they’re under a spell.” Numair wrapped his arms protectively around her and kissed her hair. Daine tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, concentrating on him and Kitten’s warm weight in her arms, rather than the basilisks’ eerie, whispering chanting. Soap and spices, she thought contentedly, still fuzzy. He smelled like soap and spices.

“I don’t like this,” Daine heard Alanna say. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Nor do I,” Numair agreed. “But Jack’s right. We _are_ out of our depth. I wouldn’t even know—” his voice faded. Daine opened her eyes and looked up.

The meadow was carpeted in the strange fog, and it swirled around Jack’s calves. He’d stopped walking, Daine thought dreamily. He’d reached the vessel. She let her eyes trail up the huge, metal machine and pressed against Numair, trying to concentrate on the real world.

His arms tightened around her, and she watched as long metal panel descended from the side of the great, oblong metal vessel to the ground.

“It _is_ like a ship,” Numair murmured, fascinated. “It’s like they’re docking.”

“What’s—” Alanna started, but even she was stunned into silence when the creature stepped out onto the grass.

\---

Nepthalae. Something angry and sad twisted in Jack’s heart as he recognized the species at last. They were Nepthalae, one of the most peaceful races to have ever graced the Milky Way Galaxy. Their history was fraught with flight from wars or slavery or things equally horrible.

It had been a while, but he remembered learning about them, once. He’d thought they were beautiful. Now, standing before one, he realized that the pictures and holograms hadn’t done them justice.

Yellow and slender, almost humanoid but not quite, the man that was clearly their leader stepped hesitantly onto the grass. He had a long neck and a willowy beak with small red streaks. He caught sight of Jack and froze.

“Ma’hara,” Jack said softly, a universal greeting. Hopefully, he spoke Galactic Standard, although there was a translation device in Jack’s wrist strap, if necessary. Still, it was politer and more formal to talk in Standard to someone who knew the language, if it was possible.

The man relaxed. “Ha’drede,” he replied in the same language. “Can you tell me where we’ve landed, friend? Our journey was long and dangerous, and our ship has failed us. We flee from a war, and my people are frightened and hungry.” Galactic Standard had a special verb tense for peace treaties. He was using that tense, formal and wary.

Jack sighed. “I fear you are not welcome here, friend,” he replied, as formally as he could, using the same tense. Calling the other a friend was important in this sort of greeting – it was an immediate reassurance to the clearly anxious leader. “The land to which you have come is hostile, although I assure you that I am not. This place is quite primitive, and unwilling to accept strangers. I beg you: leave now, before your people are hurt.” Or before I’m forced to hurt you, he thought grimly, and very firmly did not allow himself to shift his weight and show his unease.

The Nepthalam scratched the ground with one clawed toe nervously. “We have no fuel; even our emergency power cells are down,” he said, “our people were under attack. We barely made it here. We will leave as soon as we can.” The poor man’s voice had turned desperate. “But our ship is falling to pieces. I don’t think it can fly us out of this atmosphere, let alone to another planet.”

This is a disaster, Jack thought. God, but he did not want more innocent blood on his hands! “I’ll see what I can do to help you,” he told the man honestly, abandoning the formalities “Although you really won’t find the parts here. I’m stranded here too, you see, but I have the benefit of looking like the inhabitants, so I can blend in.”

There was a hiss behind him, and Jack turned. The Nepthalam gave a small yip of alarm.

Those basilisks had started to mill through the smoke carpeting the grass. They inched closer and closer to the ship, serpentine noses sniffing, jaws opening and closing, revealing two sharp teeth in the front and several grinding teeth behind. Jack turned. “Daine, call them off!” he shouted to the edge of the clearing, where he could see the others watching him wide eyed. The Nepthalam jumped at Jack’s shout and took a hesitant, frightened step away from the Immortals.

“I can’t!” Daine called back. Her voice wavered. Anxiously, Jack looked her up and down, but she seemed secure where she was standing in Numair’s arms, holding Kitten like a teddy. “They won’t listen to me!”

Jack cursed. He turned back to the leader. “Can you turn your engines off?” he asked. “I think these creatures are attracted to the exhaust.”

The other man nodded. He looked behind and said something to the people within the ship. There was a scramble and a scuffle, and then a deep whirring noise of something powering down. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to turn it back on again,” he admitted.

“I’ll help you,” Jack said. He was fairly certain he was lying and hated himself for it. “I’ll try. My companions and I, we’ll get you back up into the air, alright? You really can’t stay here, though. They won’t welcome outsiders.”

The man nodded. “I understand. Do you have a title?”

“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack said. “And you, friend?”

“Sardon Schuan. Thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me,” Jack muttered, “Not yet.” He turned back to the edge of the clearing. “It’s alright,” he called to his friends. “They’re peaceful. Come meet the neighbors!”

\---

The creature was yellowish and thin, taller than Jack. It had a long neck, topped with a head like a featherless bird, its beak long, curving and graceful. Its garb was black, and a thin yellow tail curled and uncurled anxiously at its knees. Three-toed feet scratched nervously at the grass. Brown shoes covered the pads of the creature’s feet, but cut off to leave the long, yellow toes to feel the ground.

Numair glanced down at Daine uneasily. She was clutching Kitten and leaning into his chest, eyes closed as if asleep. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Are you alright, love?” he asked, and she shook herself, staggering as though to walk away and breaking out of his arms. Numair caught her before she fell. “Magelet!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated. “The basilisks keep—keep singing, is all. No, I can’t hear the—whatever they are. We should go over.”

“Singing?” Alanna asked, but Numair glanced at her and shook his head. They needed to keep Daine grounded, and asking about the basilisks seemed like a bad idea.

“Can you walk?” Numair asked her instead.

Daine nodded and smiled at him shakily before staggering back to Cloud and clambering up. Kitten clung to her, turning pinker and pinker with fright. Numair bit his lip anxiously, but hoisted himself back onto Spots. His painted gelding snorted and tossed his head. Darkmoon huffed behind them, and Red whinnied quietly, following.

“The horses are terrified,” Daine whispered. Numair looked her up and down anxiously. She seemed more balanced on Cloud, but even still, he was afraid that she would fall. His eyes slid to Kitten, in Daine’s arms. The young dragon clutched at her tunic, muttering unhappily, and Numair felt another burst on unease.

“They’re not the only ones,” he whispered back. They made their way slowly towards the ship, and the basilisks parted before them, watching with their dull, rusty eyes. Something was definitely wrong here. “They _have_ to be drugged,” Numair said.

“They feel that way,” Daine murmured, and he glanced at her again. She tottered a little, but she rode well enough. Kitten’s muttering got louder.

They moved slowly through the mist, which swirled quietly around the horses’ hooves. Jack and that creature were standing at the foot of the vessel, and he smiled at them quickly when they approached.

“Dismount,” their friend said as the yellow alien beside him took a frightened step back. “You’re intimidating him.” He turned to the creature and said something else in a strange language. Hadn’t Jack said that the thing on his wrist translated for him? Jack turned and beckoned to Red.

The dappled gelding snorted and tossed his head, a refusal if Numair ever saw one. The mage did not blame him in the slightest. He glanced at Daine, who was regarding Jack’s horse seriously.

Numair dismounted and watched Jack take his horse’s reins very gently. Red did not bolt, mostly due to Daine’s silent reassurance, Numair was sure. Jack stroked the gelding’s nose before turning back to the bird-like creature, which, after a moment of hesitation, stepped up and tentatively touched Red’s cheek. The horse stood perfectly still and then pricked his ears forward. Numair saw Daine smile.

“What are they called, Jack?” Alanna asked suddenly. Numair glanced at her. She was standing next to Darkmoon with one hand uncertainly on the hilt of her sword, the other on the horse’s reins. Numair’s eyes skipped over to Daine, who had slipped off Cloud. She leaned heavily on the pony’s side, but she smiled when she saw him watching her. His stubborn magelet, he thought.

“Nepthalae,” Jack replied, eyes on the creature, who had looked away from the horse and was now regarding Daine, Numair and Alanna. Numair watched the creature curiously, unable to hide it.

“They’re one of the most peaceful races of the galaxy,” Jack continued. “This tribe’s running from a war. Alanna, Daine, Numair, I’d like to introduce you to Sardon Schuan, their leader. _Sardon, dulesh nonakasrot m’falla: Alanna cuspah Lioness, tre Veralidaine Sarrasri cuspah Daine, tre Numair Salmalin._ Galactic standard doesn’t have articles,” he added to Alanna, and his voice would be offhand if he weren’t standing so tensely. “So I can’t really express that you’re _the_ Lioness, only that you’re _called_ Lioness.” Numair almost laughed and Jack’s tone and his words, which were utterly irrelevant. Who cared? There were people from, not another realm, but another _world_ standing right there!

“I’m horribly offended, I’m sure,” Alanna remarked, but her voice was filled with wonder. “Where are they from?”

Yes, Numair though, amazed, where were they from? What sort of a place could produce this creature, what kind of sky did it live under?

“Planet Desoe, but they’re fleeing the wars of Malinb,” Jack replied. “It’s been a long journey, and they’re hungry and scared. Their ship’s broken,” he explained. “I told them that I’d help them fix it, and then send them on their way. They can’t stay here.”

“The gods want them dead,” Numair realized with a sinking feeling in his heart. Who could kill such a magnificent creature? “Why, if they’re peaceful?” He looked past the leader and into the dark doorway, craning his neck to see what was inside the ship. He wondered how it worked.

“Because they can’t control them,” Daine said. Her voice was low and soft. Numair turned to her sharply, and saw Alanna do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Sweet?” he asked, confused. She smiled sadly at him.

“They don’t belong here,” she continued. Her eyes were still filmy, Numair noted with alarm. “They can’t stay, it’ll—it’ll upset the balance.” Kitten, still in her arms and still looking frightened, nodded emphatically.

Jack sighed, and his posture slumped. He looked utterly defeated, as though he had the universe on his shoulders. “Yes. But I won’t kill them. We’re going to send them on their way.” He swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Will you help?”

That wasn’t even a question that needed answering, Numair thought dryly. “Of course we will,” he said, and Daine smiled at him with such warmth that his heart gave a small, happy leap. “And tell your friends so as well.” He tilted his head to the creature called Sardon.

Numair glanced at Alanna. She nodded, agreeing. Jack’s eyes warmed, and he turned to explain in that odd, lilting language. Sardon gave a ululating cry before bowing deeply.

The cry was echoed, and the five of them turned. The basilisks were drawing in thickly around the ship, although the pollution was starting the thin. Daine shook herself and stepped away from Cloud, clearly determined. Numair made a small, worried sound as she approached the basilisks.

Every serpentine head turned to her, and Numair shared an anxious glance with Alanna. Daine’s power alarmed even him, sometimes.

“Tkaa!” Daine called aloud, and a long, thin gray body separated itself from the rest.

“Can I eat it?” the Immortal asked, voice slurred and slow. Numair frowned at Tkaa’s eyes, dull and rusty, and he was struck again by how wrong that looked.

“Listen,” Daine said. “You can’t eat it, and you can’t stay here. This stuff in the air, it’s drugging you—”

“We want more, little mortal,” whispered another basilisk, coming up beside Tkaa. “Will you stand in our way?”

Numair felt a thrill of fear, and gathered his power. There was no way he could best this many basilisks without being turned to stone. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t try, but it was definitely a losing battle.

“Turn her to stone for her ignorance,” hissed another, and Numair readied himself, the words of the spell on the tip of his tongue.

“No,” Alanna said, and he turned when he felt a hand on his arm. “Daine has to do it. Not yet, Numair.”

“What _is_ she doing?” Jack asked. Numair glanced from Alanna to Jack and back to the field of basilisks.

“I don’t know,” he said unhappily, and let his power die down. Alanna was right, though. Daine was the only one who had a chance of sending them away.

Daine visibly took a breath. She ignored the other basilisk, and instead strode with confidence up to Tkaa. He bent his head, curious or hypnotized, and Daine rested a hand gently on his cheek. They both a breath, eerily in synch. Tkaa closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were perfectly clear. 

"Oh," he whispered, and then broke away from Daine's touch. 

“She denies us!” a basilisk shrieked, and Numair felt his stomach clench.

“No.” Tkaa said, stern and loud. “She’s—a friend.” It sounded like it cost him great effort to speak.

Tkaa turned his back on Daine and faced away from her, but as he turned Numair saw him shake his head. Standing upright, his nose was above the fog that whispered maybe a foot off the ground. His eyes stayed clear. “She is right. It’s poison. We must leave.” His friend’s posture became surer as he breathed the clean air.  

There were hisses and snarls among the gathered basilisks, but Tkaa was firm. “We are not animals!” he called and, with much persuasion and not a little herding, he pushed the others to stand.

Daine couldn't heal all of them. There were far too many. But at Tkaa's bidding, she healed some of them, certain specific basilisks, though what significance they had as opposed to the others Numair could not guess. Some of them hissed as their eyes cleared, some made horrified clucking sounds. The ones Daine couldn't reach, still with filmy eyes, were herded away by the ones Daine healed. Tkaa turned to Daine.

“Thank you,” he said. “You were right. We'll take care of the others; once they are away from the smoke, they will heal. I—I lost myself, in the smoke, and I’m sorry for it. This place is dangerous.” He looked at Numair and Alanna and then his eyes slid to Jack. He flinched a little, before turning back to Daine. “I do not suggest death lightly, as you well know,” the basilisk said, “but these beasts are poison. They will create more poison. I recommend that you kill them.”  He nodded once and turned to leave at a swift run.

“We’re not killing them,” Jack growled. The creature beside him shifted its weight, clearly confused. It didn’t speak Common, Numair thought. There was no way he was going to aid in killing a creature that was clearly harmless, no matter what Tkaa said.

“No,” Daine agreed, “we’re not.” Numair walked over to stand beside her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him.

“That was amazing,” he murmured, and she shrugged.

“What can we do to help?” Alanna asked. Jack looked at her incredulously, and then he grinned.


	22. Twenty Two

It was a huge mistake to let these people get involved, but their support was very, very gratifying. He turned back to Sardon, unable to hold back a grin. “I need to see your mainframe,” Jack told him. “I don’t know what I can do about food. How many people do you have?”

Sardon shifted his weight, very obviously afraid. And who could blame him, in a strange world with strange people gabbling strange languages? It was a wonder he was speaking to Jack at all, rather than just shooting at him. “A little over a hundred,” Sardon replied. “Men, women and children. We are herbivores, but I do not know the plants here. We have technology to help, of course, but you say this place is dangerous.”

Jack felt a chill go down his spine. Of course there were children. Better not think of that. Focus on the task at hand _._ “It _is_ dangerous,” he replied. An idea struck him, and he turned to Daine, who was curled under Numair’s arm. “Listen,” he told her, “They say they’re herbivorous – they eat plants, but they don’t know any of the plants here. Do you think you could help them identify a few that aren’t poisonous? Then again—” he interrupted himself and spoke to Sardon in Galactic Standard, “What’s not poisonous to us might be deadly to you.”

“We can run it through our scanners,” Sardon replied. “We brought them for that purpose.”

“Jack?” Alanna asked, apparently a thrown by the language change. It was a pity his wrist strap didn’t translate Galactic Standard. The Time Agents who designed it assumed that the wearer could speak a few languages, Standard being one of them.

“Okay,” Jack said, “Their body chemistry’s different from ours, so what’s safe for us might be deadly to them. They’ve got scanners, though, machines that will tell them what they can eat. Daine, do you think you could lead a small party of them around the edges of the meadow, so they can gather some food? They’re starving.”

Daine nodded. “Of course.”

Jack opened his mouth to say something along the lines of “good,” when he really looked at her. Numair clutched her shoulder, standing close enough that she was almost in his arms. She was pale, and though she was standing up straight he realized how ill she looked. Jack frowned.

“Are you up to it, Daine?” he asked, gentling his voice. Daine was no Torchwood operative, he thought guiltily. She wasn’t trained. “You were—”

Daine waved away his concern. “The basilisks were drugged by the smoke,” she said. “There’s no smoke, and they’ve left. I can barely feel it anymore, and the farther they get the better I’ll feel. I’m fine, Jack.”

“Sweet—” Numair protested, but she shook off his hand and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Really,” she said and the mage sighed as she stepped away.

“If you’re sure,” Jack said, and Daine nodded.

“Alright.” Jack turned back to Sardon. “We can send out a small party with Daine.” He beckoned her over and rested a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll keep them safe; they’re just going to go around the edges of the meadow. Is that alright?”

Sardon nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes that would be wonderful. Thank your companion for me, please.” He turned back to his ship and called. Five more Nepthalae came tumbling out, three of them obviously children. Jack tried very hard not to cringe at the sight of them.

Daine glanced up at him when his fingers tightened on her shoulder. He smiled weakly down at her.

Sardon spoke to his people in his native language, which was not Galactic Standard. Jack collected himself and fingered his wrist strap. He surreptitiously had it translate Sardon’s words although Daine, not wearing it, could not hear.

“—on your best behavior. It is a great honor; you will gather for the tribe. If she threatens you, you are not to harm her; we are not equipped for battle. I want you to run back to the ship… we will see what we can do from there. Do not, under any circumstance, provoke her, are we clear?”

Jack turned off the translation circuit, feeling guilty for doubting them. Sardon was sending children out, after all. If that wasn’t a gesture of good will, he didn’t know what was. He swallowed and told himself very firmly that panicking was not an option, and that he had to focus on the task at hand.

Wait, he thought with a sudden thrill of fear, speaking of children, where was Kitten? He swept his eyes away from the Nepthalae and frantically to Daine, who very clearly wasn’t holding the dragon anymore. His voice hitched on a gasp as he scanned for the child, and relief flooded through him when he saw the dragon on Cloud’s back, cowering next to the pony’s mane. She must have crawled away when he wasn’t looking. No children lost, he assured himself. Not yet. Jack turned back to Daine. She was looking at him oddly. He spoke before she could ask him why he was freaking out.

“You won’t be able to speak with them,” he told her, and realized that his unease was poorly hidden when her eyes filled with concern. “But try to be polite. They’re scared silly.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Daine said with a wry smile.

“Makes a bunch of us,” Alanna muttered.

Jack smiled a little. “The smaller ones are children,” he said. “It’s a gesture of good will, even though I’ve repeatedly said that this place is hostile. Keep yourself armed; I don’t want them eaten by any of your Immortals, alright?”

“I know how to protect a scouting party, Jack,” Daine chided him gently.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” Sardon said, and he and Daine turned. “I would like to introduce you to Maling Heron, my adviser, his son and daughter Heron Regon and Heron Farthon, my daughter Schuan Gering and my wife, Sardon Jalish.”

“It is a pleasure,” Jack replied with a small bow, and then quietly reintroduced the gathering party to Daine. She nodded and smiled as she met the eyes of each individual that Jack indicated. Daine was taking this very well for someone from such an isolated world, he thought proudly. He was about to warn her about baring her teeth to them – they might interpret it as hostile – when Sardon Jalish clicked her beak at Daine in a way that seemed friendly. It seemed they understood the concept of a smile, Jack thought with vague surprise. That was odd, especially for a species with beaks rather than lips.

“Daine, where do you plan on taking them?” Jack asked her. “So I can tell him. Schuan Gering and Sardon Jalish are his daughter and wife – he’s placing a great deal of trust in you.” And me, he thought ruefully. People should really stop trusting me.

“I’m going to take them just around the edges,” Daine replied, gesturing a little. “Like you said.”

“Yes, but _where_?” Jack said. “Where are you starting, so he’ll be able to glance over and see them?”

“Oh,” Daine muttered, and looked out to the edge of the meadow thoughtfully.

“We’ll start over there,” Numair suggested, pointing directly in the line of sight of the ship, “And work our way around.”

“No,” Jack told him, a vague plan already formulating in his head. “Daine will. I need you here, Numair.”

The mage looked ready to protest, but Jack cut him off. “If anyone’s prepared to take a crash course in space travel, Numair, it’s you.” Even though it was a completely terrible idea. This kind of knowledge was really dangerous, and trusting someone from a society without space travel was completely stupid, regardless of the fact that Numair was adorable. Still, it was that or let these people die, and Jack was trying to save the innocent lives, for once. Numair had trusted him this far. He might as well return the favor. “Your Gift might also be helpful. Alanna, you’re Gifted as well?”

“You know the answer to that,” she replied wryly. Jack gave her a half smile.

“You’re right. Stupid question, sorry. We’ll need you here, too.” He turned back to Sardon and indicated where Daine would be going. Beckoning her over, Jack established a few simple hand motions to help with communication – _Come with me, good, danger, run_. Nodding, Daine smiled at the little party and gave them the “Come with me” motion. Hesitantly, and with many backward glances at their father and leader, they followed. Jack watched her go, a little nervous himself. Alanna caught his eye, and together they glanced at Numair, who watched his Daine walk away, a forlorn look on his face.

\---

As Daine walked over to Cloud, the Nepthalae remained far behind her, chattering nervously at each other. Kitten cheeped from where she was perched on the pony’s back. She'd climbed up there, after apparently deciding that Daine had been clutching her too tightly. The Nepthalae party all fell silent, wide eyed. Cloud snorted.

I would like an explanation, please, Cloud demanded, although fear threaded her voice. Daine beckoned the Nepthalae, and they followed cautiously.

They’re peaceful, she told Cloud. Their boat crashed and they’re scared and hungry. They’re grass-eaters, like you, so I’m showing them food. Don’t bite them, please, they’re terrified.

I see. Cloud pricked her ears forward, and walked toward the creatures. Kitten, on her back, shrieked in alarm. She leaped down before racing over to cower behind Daine. The Nepthalae watched the gray pony nervously. Wide eyed and chattering, they retreated when Cloud approached. Daine gave them signal for “good,” although it didn’t seem to help. They stopped fleeing and stood stock still, the children clutching the adults with obvious fear. Cloud walked up to the smallest one and bent down, gently nudging the creature with her soft nose.

The littlest one made a high pitched gurgling noise and, carefully, patted Cloud’s cheek. The others soon clustered around the pony, stroking her and exclaiming to each other in their strange, trilling language. Daine smiled.

Thank you, she told Cloud.

I’m not a barbarian, Cloud shot back.

Daine gave the signal for “come with me” again and the Nepthalae followed, seeming more assured. One of the larger ones – Daine was guessing that it was Sardon’s wife, although for the life of her she could not remember their strange names – touched her elbow. Daine looked over and smiled into the creature’s eyes, and, in response, it clicked its beak and squeezed her arm. The children stayed close to Cloud.

Kitten, for her part, did not like them, and she made this quite clear. She shrilled angrily at Daine, and hissed whenever one of them got too near. When she threatened to bite one of the children, Daine swooped in and grabbed her.

“What’s gotten into you?” she demanded. The dragon chattered, turning an even deeper shade of pink.

“They’re just as scared of you as you are of them,” Daine told her, “And you’ve got the advantage of being on your home ground. Imagine being in a scary place and having people you’ve never seen before trying to bite you!”

The dragon’s scales turned gray around the edges. “So be nice,” Daine scolded. When she tried to put Kitten down, however, she screeched and clung. She was trembling. The Nepthalae were watching with wide eyes, staying on the other side of Cloud. Daine sighed and resigned herself to holding Kit.

It was so odd. Kitten was never this scared of something that Daine had told her was safe. Actually, Daine could not recall a time where Kitten was this scared of anything, period.

They reached the edge of the clearing and Daine pointed out several plants that she knew many of her animal friends liked. The Nepthalae took out their little metal machines and ran them over every leaf and twig that they could find. Signaling “Good!” at her, they carefully stripped several leaves off each plant and placed them into the baskets that they carried on their arms. One of them carried a small, dark box the emitted blue light. Daine was not sure what it did, but they all dropped leaves and even seeds inside it. It must be some kind of storage, she thought. Daine was touched to note that, while they took a fair amount of leaves, they always left enough for the plant to survive.

Having filled their baskets to the brim, they then began to pick out food for themselves. They very delicately plucked leaves in their beaks and, with a strange snapping sound, they would swallow. By the time they had made it around the meadow, they had had their fill and were beckoning Daine to “come with me” back to the ship. It was starting to get dark.

Daine, who had mounted Cloud’s back to scan for spidrens, smiled and followed them. Jack was right, she thought. These people were about the gentlest she’d ever met. They were even careful not to kill their food. She couldn’t think of _any_ animal that took the same courtesy, even herself.


	23. Twenty Three

Numair watched Daine lead the creatures down to the edge of the meadow anxiously and frowned when he heard Kitten give a very loud shriek. That was—odd. He hesitated, wanting to go after them, but then glanced at Alanna. She gave him a tight smile and squeezed his arm.

“Daine’s a big girl, Numair, she’ll be fine,” she said.

“Alright then.” Jack clapped his hands, all business, and they turned to look at him. “Numair, you and I are going to go and check out the mainframe, which is the central computer. Alanna, I want you to take a tour of the ship and catalog any damages.”

“How am I supposed to know what’s damaged if I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like?” Alanna asked wryly, eying the metal vessel with mistrust.

“Sardon’s going to give you a guide,” Jack explained, gesturing. “I want you to write down everything you see, and then you’ll report back to me. I don’t know how we can get the parts, but maybe we can get metal, or something.” He turned to Sardon and began to chatter in that odd language. Another Nephalae – and Numair was distracted as he wondered to himself what the singular of Nepthalae was – came down and whispered with Sardon before walking up and nodding to Alanna. It had what looked like a clipboard and parchment and some strange equivalent to a quill in its hand.

“He has a schematic of the ship,” Jack said. “You can just put a star next to the part that’s broken. This is Demoth Jouron. He speaks Galactic Standard, so I’ll be able to understand what he tells you to write.”

“Demoth Jouron,” Alanna repeated, and the creature bowed, handing her the clipboard. When Jack introduced Alanna, Demoth Jouron said, “Alanna Lioness,” in a beautiful, birdlike burr. Alanna smiled, unable to quite hide her delight.

Numair craned his neck, peering at the strange, bluish drawing on the impossibly thin parchment. The schematic for a ship meant to go between worlds, he mused with wonder and frank curiosity.

As with Daine, Jack established a few hand signals between Alanna and Demoth Jouron- _come with me, please repeat that, watch your step, careful_. He sent them off and turned to Numair.

“I don’t even know what a computer _is_ ,” Numair said.

“Well, we’ll teach you. Ready?” Jack smiled coyly and tilted his head. Sardon walked ahead and disappeared into the dark doorway, which led to the hull. “Close encounter of the third kind.”

“What?” Numair followed when Jack beckoned him into the space ship. Jack chuckled.

“That’s what they called it before conversations with aliens were a regular thing.” He said easily, and beckoned Numair up the ramp and into the darkness beyond. “And after that it became a kind of euphemism for—never mind. Anyway, welcome to the Nepthalae ship, Numair Salmalin.”

Numair hardly heard him.

As he stepped inside the shadowed hull of the massive ship, the temperature dropped considerably. The entire thing, Numair realized, was made of sheets of metal. The top of the ship arched high above their heads, and steam hissed out from some of the walls. There were blinking lights on the great, curving sides. The rest of the Nepthalae clustered together in the center, looking afraid. There weren’t very many of them, Numair mused, no more than a hundred, a hundred fifty _maybe_. Sardon stood up before Jack and spoke in a great booming voice; the others cheered when he finished, and he indicated Jack and Numair to follow him.

“What did he say?” Numair whispered.

“No idea,” Jack replied. “That was their own language, not Galactic standard. We’re in the hull; Sardon’s taking us to engineering.”

“I thought you had a translator,” Numair said.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay, fine, he said something about how they’ve got friends here who would help them. He was kind of lying; I thought I’d spare you my doubts. You’re really never going to let me get away with anything, are you?”

“No,” Numair said, amused. “What’s engineering?” The word was a familiar one, but Numair associated engineering with building castles and bridges, not flying space ships.

“The mainframe will be there,” Jack explained.

Numair took a deep, steadying breath. The air was cool and it smelled odd, somehow heavy. “What’s that smell?” he asked, distracted.

“Recycled air,” Jack told him as they walked deeper into the ship. “The air that you breathe out is broken up into its components and then reintroduced back, so you can breathe it again. It does get a bit stale, after a while.”

Numair stared at him. “They can break up the air,” he repeated, amazed. “Jack, I don’t know how I’m going to help you,” he said, looking around in delight. “I have no idea how any of this works.”

“You don’t need to,” Jack replied, ducking under strings of metal that hung from the ceiling. The lights flickered on and off, casting odd, gray shadows on the metal walls. Sardon led them down a metal hall, and everything was much closer, now.  Steam issued out from cracks in the metal sheeting. Numair, taller than Jack, ducked as well, but the steam was warm and cloying, and he got the brunt of it. “I might need you to power a few things up. You’re a smart guy – you might be able to make suggestions, even without knowing what any of this stuff does.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Numair said quietly.

They walked down and through dark twisted hallways with flickering, buzzing lights before reaching a long, thin and cramped room. The walls were metal, as they were everywhere else, and there were counters covered with little knobs and switches and blinking lights. More white steam issued from under several of them, and most of the lights blinked a strange mauve color.

“Hmm,” Jack murmured. He gestured to Numair, who followed cautiously. Sardon brought up the rear, chattering to Jack at a rapid speed. Jack walked up to a counter that looked central and, to Numair’s surprise, he pulled the top off. Steam hissed out, shrouding him in a white cloud for a moment. Coughing, he waved it away.

“Numair,” he said, and Numair walked over.

“Look,” Jack said, gesturing beneath the panel. There were small strings of metal and more blinking lights. It looked very—very _something_ , and Numair did not even have a word to describe it, let alone understand anything about it. “You see how the wires are burnt out?” He touched a melted strip of rubber with what looked like metal inside. “Can you repair some of these?”

 _Wires._ Numair filed the word away. He frowned and, with a glance at Jack, reached inside the small compartment. The air within was warm and heavy, like the air above a fire recently doused. He fingered one of the things called wires thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” he replied. “If I had a way to store some of my Gift. Delicate work like this means that I have to siphon some of it off somewhere else, or the whole thing melts.” He could feel the power at the tips of his fingers, and knew it was too much. The whole place would blow, he thought ruefully, and was just about to suggest that Jack go get Alanna – her healing ability made her Gift more fine-tuned than his –when Jack interrupted.

“Well then,” he said. “I think I can do that. Come here.” He gestured Numair over to another panel. Chattering to Sardon, he opened that one as well.

“This is called a battery,” Jack explained. “Or, at least twenty-first century Earth calls it a battery. The Nepthalae call it a power cell. It’s emergency power for the ship – and it’s almost drained. Could you boost it?”

Numair touched the smooth, curved metal and then smiled. “Now that I can do,” he said.

\---

Alanna was having the weirdest time of her life, and she’d gone through some pretty weird times. Demoth Jouron was a patient sort, which was a good thing because Alanna wasn’t.

They’d walked around the outside of the ship, Demoth gesturing at things that were apparently broken. Alanna lost count of the times that she had to use the “repeat that” signal. He seemed amused, at least, if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by.

When they finished with the outside, Alanna’s paper with the schematic of the ship was a mess of stars and circles. Demoth gave her the “come with me” signal and she followed him inside the ship, gasping in surprise when the temperature dropped. It was metal – the entire ship was metal, and she had not appreciated that until she stepped inside and saw the high, vaulted ceiling. She’d never seen so much metal in her life, and she’d learned to fight in a suit of armor.

Demoth handed her a new sheet, a schematic of the inside, and took her around the edges of things. She marked every pipe leaking steam and every hanging strip of metal. It would have been tedious, if the ship had not been simply amazing.

“I can’t believe that this thing can fly,” she murmured as Demoth indicated a fallen panel. He tilted his head at her voice, but she shrugged, unable to communicate the thought. He made a strange gurgling noise that Alanna assumed was a chuckle and moved on.

A few of the Nepthalae had crept out of the center of the great room in the front and were following them, chattering to Demoth and watching Alanna curiously with their blue, glassy eyes. It was unnerving, but there really wasn’t anything that she could do about it, so she went about her business.

A small creature that Alanna assumed was a child raced up to Demoth. He chattered, scolding, at the little one. It chirped back, and Demoth sighed ruefully before looking up at Alanna. He signaled “come with me” and Alanna followed dutifully, confused. They ended up just outside the ship, where Daine was standing holding Kitten, with Cloud, Spots, Darkmoon and Red beside them. Alanna noticed that night had fallen. Had she been working that long?

The children that had gone with Daine were yipping delightedly, racing up and down the ramp, handing out the leaves and grasses that they had plucked. Daine was watching them with a small smile on her face, although Kitten was still pink with fear. The little dragon was pressed tightly to Daine’s chest, watching with wide eyes. Daine was letting her curl close, a hand comfortingly resting on her head. Kitten looked up at Alanna and cheeped a greeting, although her voice was small. Daine turned and caught sight of Alanna. She smiled and beckoned the Lioness over her armful of dragon.

“They’re really lovely, aren’t they?” she asked. Kitten muttered unhappily in her arms.

Alanna smiled at Daine’s soft heart, despite Kit’s worrying response. “I suppose they are,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was dark out already.”

Daine shrugged. “I guess there’s a lot of work. Have you seen Numair?”

Just as she said it, two familiar voices rose out of the dark ship’s entrance. The four horses turned, ears pricked, and Daine’s lips quirked in a smile. Alanna turned to the entryway.

“So the entire thing is based off a _current?_ ” Numair was demanding. “How does ‘on-off’ translate into a command?”

Alanna felt a smile twitch at the corners of her lips. Mages, honestly, they were like toddlers. Numair sounded like a child with a new toy.

Jack gave a long suffering sigh that was audible as they approached. “That’ll take hours,” he complained. “And I shouldn’t really tell you anyway. Can’t you just accept that it does, and move on?”

“Yes, but I want to know _why_ it works.” They both stepped out into the dusky light, Numair in the lead, looking back at Jack. Alanna saw Daine’s smile widen at the sight of her mage.

“There you are!” Daine said, walking up the ramp to join them. Numair’s face, slightly gray with exertion, lit up at the sight of Daine. Dignity abandoned, he raced from Jack’s side to reach her, then lifted her up and spun her around. Kitten jumped from Daine's arms with an indignant shriek and raced down the ramp to Alanna. She smiled indulgently at her and lifted the frightened dragon from the ground.

“Let Numair have his fun,” Alanna whispered, and Kit huffed unhappily.

“Have you seen this place?” Numair was saying enthusiastically, clutching Daine to him so just the tips of her toes touched the metal of the ramp, “It’s amazing, absolutely stunning! They use electricity and chemicals to power it – Jack was just explaining the mainframe – and this gunpowder, it powers the whole ship, can you imagine? And it works the same way as it does in Jack’s gun, just the same! It pushes out, and in space that translates to _forward—_ ”

“Numair, I don’t think I understood a word of that,” Alanna said wryly over Daine’s giggles at his delight. She walked up the ramp to join them, smiling warmly at her friends. Numair set Daine down and Kitten immediately wriggled out of Alanna’s arms to go to Daine’s leg, begging to be picked up again.

“It’s just astounding,” Numair said, beaming at the both of them. “These people are amazing!” He took Daine’s hand and tugged her down the ramp, Alanna and Jack following. Daine turned to scoop up her frightened dragon before letting Numair pull her away.

Jack met Alanna’s eyes for a moment, chuckling at Numair’s glee. “I _said_ you’d understand it.” He strolled over to greet his horse, laying a hand on Red’s nose. Red nickered at him, lipping his sleeve. He really was sweet with Red, Alanna mused to herself. The fact that the two had clearly bonded in so short a time was surprising, even with Daine’s help. It had taken Alanna years to get that sort of trust in Darkmoon, and she’d raised him from a foal.

Numair was hugging Daine close, sharing his joy. “It isn’t that hard,” he told Jack modestly.

“We all knew you were smart,” Daine giggled, leaning on him and clutching Kitten to her chest. The dragon pressed into Daine, burying her head into her foster-mother’s shoulder. Alanna looked at her in concern and was just about to ask Daine about her when Jack spoke.

“At any rate,” he interrupted, turning from Red and looking at the beaming Numair indulgently, “It’s dark out, and I don’t want our mage to exhaust himself.”

Numair huffed. “I’ve gone for _days_ —”

“Yes, and probably collapsed afterward, am I right?” He looked pointedly at Daine who nodded with a wry smile. “We can’t afford that. If you rest in between, we’ll probably get this done much faster and with fewer mistakes. We do still need to find these weevils, after all.”

“We should make camp, then,” Alanna said.

Jack nodded. “That would probably be best,” he said.

Numair gave a sigh. “But if I just—”

“Numair, he’s right,” Daine told him, jostling him gently with her shoulder. “You’ll think better with some sleep, and there’s no immediate danger, is there?” She turned to Jack.

“I don’t think so,” Jack replied. Alanna heard the thread of uncertainty in his voice and she glanced at him sharply. He’d looked away though, watching the dark ship and the Nepthalae inside.

Kitten muttered, and Daine hefted her in her arms. “He says there’s no danger,” she told the dragon, who whistled.

“Is she alright?” Alanna finally asked, and all eyes fell to the dragon.

Kitten was a pink so bright she was practically glowing. She pressed into Daine’s chest, but she nodded reluctantly.

“She’s afraid, although I don’t know why,” Daine said, cuddling her.

“That’s odd,” Jack muttered, sharp eyes on the dragon. There was something strange about him when he looked at Kitten, Daine was right about that, Alanna mused. Some sort of sadness, a weird sort of fear. Had he lost a child? The thought was almost too horrible to contemplate. Jack shook himself and went back to the ship, presumably to speak with Sardon. Alanna watched him go before turning to her friends and leading them into the dusk to prepare camp.


	24. Twenty Four

Daine was surprised when a gentle yellow hand held out the saddlebag from Cloud’s back. Looking around, she saw that they had followers: the Nepthalae had disembarked as well, and were helping them build camp, under Jack’s soft directions.

Kitten wriggled, and Daine let her scamper down to help. The pink started to fade from her scales as she passed sticks shyly to one of the children trying to start a fire.

Camp was finished in record time, and with many thanks and soft trills, Jack sent the Nepthalae back onto their ship. Kitten, less nervous, bounded up to Daine, chattering excitedly because she had faced her fear. Daine scooped her up and they watched the great metal hatch of the space ship close slowly. The ship’s inhabitants, safe in their vessel, settled in for the night, leaving the Tortallans to their own devices.

“That was unexpected,” Alanna said after a moment of silence.

“They’re good people,” Jack replied quietly. He sighed and poked at the fire, sending sparks to the sky, which had darkened into twilight as they had built camp. “I wish they hadn’t crashed here.”

Daine sighed. She opened her mouth to agree.

 _Daine!_ Cloud squealed, cutting her off.

A horribly familiar voice said, “You’re not the only one, dearie.”

Kitten shrieked with fury, bright red, and she pointed. The rage in Daine came thick and fast as she followed that silver claw. 

“You!” she burst out.

The Graveyard Hag, the patron goddess of Carthak, was standing just on the edge of camp, leaning on her cane and watching Jack with one keen eye. The light of dusk cast her half in shadow, her hunched back a silhouette against the twilight sky. She took three steps toward them, so that the light from the fire could reveal her old, haggard face. “I told you we wanted them dead,” she growled. “You did not fulfill your end of the bargain.” The goddess frowned and scratched her chin. “You are a handsome thing, though, I’ll give you that.”

Jack’s face hardened as he rose and walked around the fire. He came to a stop with his back to them, and Daine realized that he was putting himself between them and the goddess. It was a surprising gesture, and Daine, when she glanced over, saw Alanna raise her eyebrows. Daine stood up as well, followed by Alanna and Numair.

She grabbed Kitten before the snarling dragon could reach the Hag, shushing her and holding her close. Daine startled a little when she felt Numair rest a hand on her shoulder, but then leaned back into his support. She was not best pleased to see the Hag; after what happened in Carthak, she’d become Daine’s least favorite goddess. The horses, not tethered, milled nervously around the edges of the firelight. Daine warned them to keep their distance, although Red whinnied anxiously.

“I’m not killing them,” Jack was saying, eyes fixed on the Hag. “They’re peaceful; I’m sending them on their way. If you want them gone faster, you will help me fix their ship.”

Alanna and Numair gaped at him. Even Daine, who had been fair annoyed at the Hag in her time, had never taken that tone with her.

“They will go off into the stars,” the Hag replied, leaning on her stick. “And they’ll tell others of this place. Then they’ll come back and upset the balance further. They must be destroyed.”

“The _Nepthalae_?” Jack demanded incredulously, and laughed in the goddess’ face. “They’ve barely got space travel. They’ll settle somewhere else, and they’ll be grateful for the help. They’ll talk about your planet in legends, nothing more. They’re harmless.”

Kitten shrieked a warning. The Hag lunged with her staff, aiming to knock Jack on the head for his cheek. He was too quick; he saw the blow coming and leaped swiftly out of the way. “Do not take that tone with me, immortal,” the goddess snapped. Her one eye flashed to Daine. “And control your dragon!”

Daine blinked, clamping a hand automatically over Kitten’s muzzle. Did the Graveyard Hag just call Jack _immortal_? Daine glanced at Numair, who tugged his nose nervously. Alanna’s eyebrows had risen almost to her hairline. Yes, Daine thought in surprise, she had heard correctly. Kit muttered, struggling in Daine’s grasp. The dragon didn’t seem particularly surprised.

“Look what I’ve found for you, wandering in the dark,” the Hag continued, her gruff voice soft and tempting. “Call it a bargaining piece. Kill them now, and we’ll call it favor number two. He’s a looker, and the deal’s more than generous.” She waved her staff.

“I told you,” Jack gritted, glaring, “I won’t—” and then, as he saw what was behind the Hag, his voice caught in his throat, and the only sound that emerged was a shocked croak.

A dark haired man in strange clothing was standing there. His pale eyes were wide in surprise, and he blinked once, looking confused. The man was wearing a shirt of the same make as Jack had when he’d arrived, although he wore white and covered it with some kind of sleeveless gray garment. There was a piece of blue cloth tied neatly around his neck and then tucked inside the v of the gray sleeveless thing over his shirt. His eyebrows had ridden up to his forehead.

“That's--different.” His accent was pronounced, though Daine could not place it, and his voice dry and incredulous. He looked left and right, disbelieving.

But Jack’s face had gone slack. He looked like he’d been dying of thirst, and suddenly found an oasis in a desert; he looked like he had found his heart’s desire. “ _Ianto?_ ”  

Daine and Numair both caught their breath, recognizing the name.

Oh, no, Red said quietly.

“ _Jack?_ ” The young man breathed, composure melting away, eyes locking on their friend. The man called Ianto tried to step around the goddess, but the Graveyard Hag flung out an arm, stopping him. He blinked at her, coming up short.

“Not yet, dearie,” she growled, and turned back to Jack, while the man--Ianto--looked affronted. “We can make it better, Captain Harkness,” she said, and her gravelly voice was soft and persuasive. “We can bring them back. All of them.”

Daine found her voice as fury on behalf of her friend rose in her chest. And he _was_ their friend, after all this, after he had stopped lying and started helping. “You leave him alone!” she shouted, hand still clasped around Kitten’s muzzle, although the dragon had turned purple with outrage. “Don’t listen to her, Jack, it isn’t permanent. The souls she brings back to life don’t always stay that way.”

“Daine,” Numair gasped in horror at her impertinence. His hand tightened in alarm on her shoulder and Daine shot him a fierce look.

“If you weren’t a godborn, I’d kill you for that,” the Graveyard Hag said offhandedly, not taking her eyes of Jack. “As it is, I could take your lover instead. Your Lindhall Reed’s little beast remained, did it not? It’s the choice of the soul, no one else.”

Daine stood protectively in front of Numair, just as Jack’s Ianto remarked very quietly, “Don’t I have any say in this?”

“Ianto,” Jack whispered painfully, as though unable to say anything else. He looked like his heart had broken all over again. Daine saw him swallow, and then she saw his fist clench. He shook himself, as though remembering where he was and why the other was standing there.

Furious, Jack forced his attention back to the Hag. “What have you done?” he snarled, voice rising, “What have you _done_ to him! Your Black God said that you couldn’t touch the dead of my world. What the _hell_ have you done?”

The Graveyard Hag smiled, and the twilight of early night glinted off her face.

“She said your name,” Ianto answered dreamily, and Jack’s eyes locked back onto him, helpless. “I heard it, so I followed. I thought you might’ve finally died. I looked for you, you know. I thought… in the spaces between, before you woke up each time. I might be able to see you.”

Jack looked like someone had stabbed him. “Ianto, I’m sorry, I—”

“This isn’t fair, goddess,” Alanna broke in quietly. Daine glanced at her.

“It was never a question of fairness, Lioness,” the Hag snapped. “It was a question of—”

“Of manipulation!” Jack growled, wrenching his eyes off Ianto and back to the Hag.

“Do not interrupt me, immortal—”

“Ianto, they want me to kill,” Jack cried, turning back desperately. “They want me to kill a hundred civilians: men, women and children—not human, but not—”

“Then don’t do it,” Ianto interrupted, and Daine decided then and there that she liked him, even without having really met him. “Don’t listen to her, Jack.”

“How _dare_ you?” the Hag snarled, spinning to face Ianto. “How _dare_ you defy me—”

“I’m not in your jurisdiction,” Ianto told her, steely, determined, and just a little bit smug. “You haven't tied me to this place, or its laws. You can't, unless I let you. I'm letting you hold me here, now, but I came of my own free will. I can leave of it as well.” He turned back to Jack. “I love you. I’m sorry I left.” He started to fade.

“I miss you,” Jack whispered miserably. “I’m sorry, I—I—”

“It was never your fault, Jack. I’ll look—” Ianto started, but he disappeared before he could finish.

“Don’t,” Jack choked to the empty space where Ianto had been standing.

“Well,” the Hag scowled. “Isn’t this touching.”

Jack whirled. His eyes, trailing tears, flamed with fury. “ _Leave,_ ” he snarled lowly.

“How dare you—”

“ _I SAID, LEAVE!_ ” Jack bellowed. “I am _not_ dealing with gods until I have these people back up in space! And you, _you_ ,” now he advanced upon the Hag, murder in his eyes, “have lost your right to speak to me. I’m talking to Owen, or nobody at all, _IS THAT CLEAR?_ ”

“You have no power here,” the Hag growled, and Jack drew his revolver furiously.

“Wanna bet?” he spat. “You wanna fight a man who can’t die? Seriously? Let me tell you something: you may be a god, but _I will outlast you_.” His finger rubbed against the back of his weapon, pulling some kind of lever, and Daine heart it creak ominously.

“His soul will rot in Chaos!” screeched the Hag, and she vanished with a snap.

There was a silence. Jack took a breath that hitched in his throat. It sounded like a thunderclap, and Daine was beside him in an instant.

“Jack,” she said, “Are you—”

“No.” The reply was quiet, and Jack’s voice cracked. “No, I’m really not alright.” His eyes were wide and shocked, and his hands shook when he tucked his revolver away.

“Oh, Jack,” Numair whispered, coming over as well. “Jack, I’m so—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Jack spat, whirling on them. The fire glinted off the tears on his cheeks, and his blue eyes looked mad in the starlight. “Don’t you dare.” Violent tremors had spread from his hands, and he looked as though he was on the verge of collapse.

“He was your lover.” Alanna’s voice was quiet, more of a statement than a question. Daine blinked in surprise. She glanced at Alanna, briefly perplexed, but then Jack’s breath hitched and caught, and Daine knew an affirmative when she heard one.

“He won’t really rot in Chaos,” Daine assured him, shoving her vague confusion aside and trying to tug Jack closer to the warmth of the fire. The man was like a stone; he would not move, except for the trembling that racked his body. “She really doesn’t have control over him.”

“Ch-chaos would be better,” Jack gasped, relenting when Alanna and Numair joined Daine’s gentle persuasion. “Then what he gets at home.”

“Don’t say that,” Alanna murmured as she guided him to sit down. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” Jack whispered brokenly, slumping to the ground. “I really, really do.”

Daine rubbed his arm softly, and there was a short silence. 

“She called you immortal,” she murmured, after a moment. Jack gasped a bark of bitter laughter, although he leaned into the touch.

“Yes,” he choked. “She did.”

“You come back,” Numair said, half-disbelieving. Jack had called himself a man who couldn’t die, hadn’t he? She watched his face as Numair asked him, “You come back each time you’re killed?”

Jack said nothing, but he nodded, wiping his eyes. There was no lie in him.

“That must hurt,” Daine said sympathetically. Cloud had been saying as much from the moment they had met him, and this made more sense than it didn’t. He must’ve come back to life when that spidren bit him when they met. Had that only been a few weeks ago? It felt like forever.

Jack huffed a little, laughter that sounded hysterical. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does.”

“Who was he, Jack?” Alanna asked quietly. “He was yours, but who was he?”

Daine shot her a glance. This was delicate territory, and she was shocked when Jack spoke, words drawn from him with great reluctance.

“He was—he used to work for me. He was part of—of _Torchwood_.” His breath hitched at the title, and Daine knew, with absolute certainty, that Torchwood was this place where Jack had lived, this place that he had loved. “Ianto made the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, and he was loyal to a fault.” Jack swallowed, his speech halting. “He helped me catch that pterodactyl, and we used to hunt weevils together late at night. His first field mission, he— he was _Ianto_ , and in the end he became everything. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I begged them not to kill him. But they didn’t care.”

“Who?” Numair asked.

Jack did not reply. He just looked down into his lap, breath hitching.

There was a short silence, which Kitten interrupted. She wriggled out of Daine’s grasp and made her way over to Jack. Sitting up in front of him, scales gray with sympathy, she cheeped. The man—no, Daine thought, the Immortal—choked on a sob when he saw her. He whispered something that sounded like “I’m sorry,” but Daine couldn’t be sure.

“She knew,” Numair said quietly, and Daine turned to him. “She knew you were immortal. That’s why she likes you, isn’t it?”

Daine blinked and looked down at her charge. “Is this true, Kit?”

The dragon shrugged and turned back to Numair. She huffed a little and then squawked before climbing into Jack’s lap. Kit curled up there like a cat and began to croon. Jack sighed and ran a finger between her small wings.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. The dragon’s head shot up and she shook it. Jack’s eyebrows rose. “It helped,” he said thickly. Kitten cocked her head and then nodded after a moment. “What else do you know?” Jack asked her, his blue eyes miserable. He looked like he was waiting for a killing blow, Daine thought, and rested a supportive hand on his shoulder.

The dragon looked at him, and then looked at Daine. She tilted her head back and made a sound like a howling wolf.

“Bad Wolf,” Alanna whispered, and Jack’s head shot up, dislodging Daine’s hand. Clearly, he had not been expecting that.

“What about it?” he demanded harshly, defensively.

“I keep on dreaming about her,” Daine said. Jack looked about ready to bolt.

“That’s impossible,” Jack snapped, visibly drawing his shields up around himself. Daine shrugged.

“Cloud said you were a wolf,” she continued, keeping her voice soft and trying to placate him with a hand on his arm. “Only she called you the cub who is not a cub – the Bad Wolf’s cub.”

Jack stared at her and then turned his head to the gray pony, grazing innocently just outside the ring of firelight. “She made me,” he said, eyes unfocused as he looked into the night as though at something impossibly far away, “into a fixed point in time and space.” Jack’s voice had turned bitter, and Daine did not understand what that could mean. The Bad Wolf made him immortal?

“Who was she?” Numair asked, and Jack fixed him with burning eyes.

“Rose Tyler,” he said lowly. “The Doctor’s Rose. She looked into the heart of the Doctor’s ship, absorbed the power of the Time Vortex and brought me back to life—only she did it permanently. They both left me behind. The Doctor could not _bear_ to be around me. That’s all I know.” His voice had twisted with a long accepted injustice, with hurt buried deep. Jack looked away.

Alanna, for her part, looked perplexed. Jack seemed unwilling to say any more, as he rose, placed a protesting Kitten on the ground, and walked over to Red. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “Please don’t follow me.”

Daine stood as well, but to her shock, Red turned to face her.

No, he said. Do not come. We will be fine.

Blinking, she sat back down.

“Daine?” Alanna asked. She’d stood as well, but Daine gestured her to sit.

“Red said to leave him alone,” Daine replied, watching man and horse walk away from the firelight. “Horse Lords,” she whispered after a moment. There wasn’t really anything else to add.

“Yes,” Numair agreed, and they watched Jack fade into the night.


	25. Twenty Five

“I want to leave,” Jack told Red the moment they were out of earshot. The dappled gelding regarded him with one soft brown eye.

“But if I leave,” Jack continued despondently, “these gods will destroy the Nepthalae. Actually, if I stay they’ll still probably do it. Oh, _hell_.”

Red sighed deeply and bumped his nose on Jack's arm. Jack stopped walking at the touch and turned to look at him. Red was calm at his shoulder, nipping lightly at the stripes of his coat. One black edged ear twitched and Jack smiled wistfully at his gelding, stepping back to pat a large, gray cheek.

Red tossed up his head and then knelt, rolling away from Jack, scratching his back in the grass before coming to rest on his side, facing him. Jack watched him with faint amusement – horses were meant to have their feet on the ground, not in the air, and the dappled gelding looked quite ridiculous.

“You’ve got the right idea, I think,” Jack said. He sat down next to him. The grass was cool and slightly damp from the night, dew just starting to settle. Red inched up and offered his shoulder, curling his muscular neck around so that his head rested by Jack’s elbow, his shoulder blade at Jack’s back. Jack leaned into the inviting warmth. His gelding curled further, his face inching towards Jack’s lap. He was clearly asking to be petted, so Jack stroked his soft nose. A deep-seated calm settled over his earlier grief like fresh snow. Red made things simple, Jack thought.

“The stars are bright tonight,” he said after a moment, hushed. “They’ve been bright every night." He sighed and then muttered, "It probably has something to do with the Gates being open.”

Red huffed at him, and there was a silence. The dappled gray hair radiated warmth, and Jack rested a hand between the gelding’s ears, leaning his head back onto the horse’s withers.

“What am I going to do, Red?” he asked. Red wuffled and Jack closed his eyes with an unhappy smile.

He didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until something whacked him on the head.

“Ow!” he complained, looking up and squinting in the sudden, bright sunlight. Owen was holding a piece of something from the rubble of Torchwood Three. It was high noon in Jack’s dream-version of Cardiff, and he was leaning on a rock tossed up from the crater of the destroyed Hub.

“Idiot!” Owen seethed, whacking Jack again with the malformed lump of blue plastic. “Moron! Dimwit! What the fuck were you _thinking_?”

“What was _I_ thinking?” Jack spat, rising to his feet and making to grab the plastic out of Owen’s hands. He missed. “What are _you_ thinking? You want me to kill them?”

Owen tossed his piece of plastic away and paced, swiftly back and forth in front of the smoking crater of Jack’s nightmares. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“She had Ianto, Owen,” Jack told him desperately.

“Don’t even start with me, Harkness,” Owen snapped, still pacing.

“But how did she find him?” Jack asked the general air, moving to pace beside Owen. The medic stopped him short.

“Forget the teaboy for a second,” he cried, exasperated, and Jack’s patience thinned.

“Answer the question,” he said lowly, telling himself firmly that provoking rash Owen to fight would be a very bad idea, and also quite unproductive.

“Do I look like I’d know?” Owen sneered.

“From where I’m standing? Yes,” Jack snapped.

Owen deflated. “Well, I don’t,” he said, bitter. “Anyway. I’m here to tell you that they’re _pissed_.” He jerked his thumb upwards.

“Yeah, like I needed you to tell me that,” Jack scowled, hopping up to sit on a massive upturned stone that likely used to be part of the sidewalk. Owen regarded him for a moment.

“You were in love with him.” It wasn’t a question. Jack glared at his friend.

“None of your business.” Like he was really going to talk about Ianto with _Owen_ , of all people.

“Yeah, it is my business,” Owen snapped. Jack wondered abstractly to himself why the hell Owen cared. He hadn’t even _liked_ Ianto. “I was there, remember? Both of you shagging like rabbits, I couldn’t’ve missed it. Well? Were you?”

“I’m tired of people asking me this,” Jack ground out, eyes prickling. He looked down at his knees and took a deep, steadying breath. _Calm._ Stay calm, and do not think of the time Ianto had flown off the handle because Owen had tracked alien blood all over the Hub, looking for a specific file.

“ _And who do you think has to clean this up? I have an idea, Doctor Harper. Why don’t we stay in our playpen, instead of tracking Malakaxian blood all—over—the sodding—Hub!”_

The memory whispered like a breeze through Jack’s dreamscape. He swallowed.

There was a silence.

“Shit.” Owen hopped up to sit next to him on the upturned piece of rubble, eyes bright with something that, if Jack hadn’t known better, looked like remorse. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Jack rasped, not meeting his eyes. “Me too.”

There was another awkward silence. Owen wasn’t really the one to go to with troubles of the heart, Jack thought wryly. “If that goddess brings Tosh next,” he said, and he knew it wasn’t fair, but he felt a stab of vicious satisfaction when Owen’s breath caught, “should I send her your best?”

“That was low, Harkness,” Owen growled.

“Well, lord knows that Ianto’s not going to respond when she calls again,” Jack replied bitterly.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Owen said after another moment’s silence. “They want those Nepthalae dead, but you might be able to appeal to a few of them. Screw Mithros, because he’s a war-god—I’d say talk to Alanna’s Goddess.” He gave a little nod. “That’s your best bet. Or my mate Gainel, actually, although fat lotta good he’ll do. Veralidaine’s parents might help you, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me about gods with a straight face,” Jack replied, although he was grateful for the subject change. Owen scowled.

“Yeah, well, when they call you to council you start to take them seriously,” Owen said, although he also seemed grateful for the subject change. “Alanna’s Goddess,” he continued, “Veralidaine’s parents.”

“Since when are Daine’s parents gods?” Jack asked. Owen shrugged.

“Minor gods. Northern god of the hunt, and a goddess of childbirth. Weiryn and the Green Lady.”

“Oh,” Jack muttered, for lack of anything else to say. “How do I contact them?”

Owen sneered at him. “Well, since you refused to talk to anyone, you don’t. I do. Shall I?” He gestured dramatically with a hand and Jack rolled his eyes.

“By all means,” he said.

\---

“You are tiny. I can see the whole of Time and Space—every single atom of your existence, and I divide them.”

The Bad Wolf, the golden goddess with streaming eyes, apparently called Rose Tyler, raised her hand. Daine turned.

She was on a space ship of some kind, and there was a wall with a moving picture, although she could not quite make out what the creature in the picture was; only that Rose Tyler was killing it.

_Rose, you’ve done it, now stop. Just let go._

Daine turned left and right, but she could not see the speaker. She would, however, have bet her life that it was Jack’s Doctor, the man who loved Rose, but was too foolish to do anything about it.

“How can I let go of this?” Rose asked, voice distracted and, somehow, terrifying. “I bring life.”

There was a whisper from somewhere and nowhere and Daine knew, for no reason but without the shadow of a doubt, that with one breath she’d brought permanent life to Jack Harkness.

“But that’s wrong!” Daine cried. “You can’t control life and death!”

“But I can,” the Bad Wolf replied, and she turned her head so glowing eyes locked on Daine’s face, truly looking at her for the first time. Daine felt a thrill of fear.

The Bad Wolf continued speaking. “The Sun and the Moon. The Day and the Night… but why do they hurt?”

The dream faded abruptly and Daine found herself sitting bolt upright in her bedroll, breathing hard. Suddenly, she knew the answer.

_I can see all of Time and Space._

Rose Tyler had brought Jack back to life. She _kept on_ bringing Jack back to life. She could see all of time and space in that moment, just that moment—that’s why the dream kept on repeating! Daine was seeing parts of the same moment, broken up, over and over again, because that was all that existed for this Bad Wolf. That moment, projected through all of time and space.

“My head is killing me,” Daine muttered.

“Love?” Numair’s voice was drowsy. She looked down into sleepy dark eyes, jostled awake by her movement. She ran a hand through his soft, unbound dark hair affectionately. He hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Daine shook his shoulder, not wanting him to drift off again. The black eyes opened again and Numair gave her a wounded look, clearly wanting to go back to sleep. Daine smiled at him softly.

“Numair, I figured it out,” she whispered, and his eyes widened


	26. Twenty Six

Owen stood up straighter. “Right then,” he said. “Jack Harkness gives his permission: I’m calling on the Goddess—”

**_NO_ **

It echoed around the wreckage of Torchwood Three. The sun dipped crazily, scattering the light; suddenly the bay plunged into darkness.

“What the hell?” Owen said.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” Jack said dryly.

“No,” Owen agreed. “No, it’s not. Let’s try that again, shall we?” He lifted an arm, looking around. “I said—”

The sun shot up, dipped again and flashed madly, sending shadows dancing across the wrecked sidewalk. The ground started to shake. Something deep within the crater of the ruined Hub crashed as it fell. Jack staggered and Owen lunged, catching him before he toppled over.

**_No  
Jack Harkness has not fulfilled his end of the bargain _ **

The voice was calm and expressionless, loud enough to echo around the site of Jack’s nightmares.

“The bargain was that I keep you safe!” Jack shouted to it, steadying Owen when he, too, lost his balance. “You wanted me to get rid of the Nepthalae, and I’m doing it. They won’t come back, and I’ll find your damn Guardian. I’m doing exactly what you told me to do!”

“You need to wake up,” Owen said urgently.

The rubble around them was shaking and lifting in the air. Bits of stone hovered, spinning, and Jack had a horrific, sickening flashback of a year that never happened, and monstrous, murderous metal spheres. As Jack and Owen stood, stones whizzed through the air, disappearing into the crater of the Hub, which creaked and groaned. The upturned sidewalk snapped down, and Jack realized with sudden confusion that the place was reconstructing itself, the landscape of his nightmare turning back into the Hub he had loved so well. The pieces of the black monument, a tall pillar that stood above the Hub, were growing from the sidewalk like a tree. Owen shook Jack’s shoulder forcefully.

“Wake up, _now, Jack!_ ”

\---

Jack jolted awake. Red snorted, looking over at him. The horse’s breath fogged in the early morning.

“Come on,” Jack told him. Red heaved himself to his feet. “Something’s about to happen.”

Jack rose as well and clambered bareback onto his horse, urging him with his feet to go back to camp.

A good mount was priceless, someone had once told him, and they were right. Jack dug his fingers into the dark mane as, bridleless and saddleless, he rode Red back to the dying embers of the campfire.

“Wake up!” Jack called to his friends, arranged in two bedrolls around the fire. “You have to wake up, something’s—”

A crash of thunder interrupted the otherwise silent, clear night.

The Lioness jerked out of her bedroll and onto her feet, wearing her nightclothes and holding her sword. Daine and Numair also erupted from their blankets, Daine groping for her bow while Numair pulled power to his fingertips. Kitten, now a deep, fearful magenta, shrieked with everything she had. Daine lunged and clamped her hand around the dragon’s muzzle.

The earth shook. “What’s going on?” Alanna yelled.

“We have to get the Nepthalae out of their ship!” Jack called. “Quickly!” He urged the panicking Red to turn—

Too late. The two mages, the knight, the dragon and Jack gaped in horror at the lightning that struck the broken down Nepthalae ship, sending hundreds of tiny, deadly bolts shivering across the metal.

Jack shook himself out of it first. “Numair, can you shield them?” he demanded. _No more death,_ Jack thought frantically. _They can’t all die, they can’t!_

The mage looked up at Jack, eyes huge. “I—I don’t—”

“Try! Dammit, Numair, try!”

Alanna crossed over and took his hand. Violet and black fire glittered around them both, and Numair held out his arm and raised his palm. Kitten put both her paws on the two mages’ grasped hands, whistling shrilly against the thunder. Dark and violet power rose in a swirling disk above the ship, and sweat prickled Numair’s forehead.

Jack dismounted. “Stay here,” he told Red firmly and turned to Daine when the gelding tossed his head in protest. “ _Make him stay._ ” And then he tore off to the ship at a run, coat flapping at his heels.

\---

Daine called after Jack, nearly inarticulate with horror, but he did not listen. Red squealed and reared, wind whipping at his dark mane and lightning throwing his rolling eyes in harsh relief. Daine held him, not letting him follow Jack, even though he dearly wanted to.

You have to stay, she cried.

But they’ll kill him, they’ll hurt him! the gelding shouted, fighting with all his will.

He’s immortal, Daine reminded him. You’re not. Chills raced down her spine and she turned to her Numair, who prepared to battle with the elements. Numair’s not immortal either, she thought, terror rising up within her. But what else could they do? The Nepthalae were going to die, and she couldn’t use Wild Magic in this kind of battle, not without her friends dying. Thunder roared from behind her.

Red whinnied after his rider and then stood still, hanging his head. He shouldn’t hurt, the horse whimpered. He hurts too much.

Daine looked out. Jack was outlined by the light from Numair and Alanna’s growing protective shielding, but lightning still crackled around the ship. There was a crash of thunder as lightning ripped through the sky. Daine spun when she saw the bolt hit the shield with a sharp _crack,_ knowing with a sinking heart that that was going to do something terrible to Numair.

 She wished she hadn’t been right. Daine lunged, catching the mage when he staggered under the effort of the shield, and he panted from the pain of the lightning. Alanna locked her knees, leaning on the both of them and Kitten held on tightly, shrilling.

Numair gasped and Kitten’s voice hitched in distress, although she kept on singing. A second lightning bolt hit the shield, thunder howling around them. “Magelet,” Numair panted, eyes wide and frightened and Mithros bless it, Daine loved him so, “I can’t—”

“If you kill yourself,” Daine threatened very quietly, terrified, helpless, letting him lean heavily against her.

“You’ll—hang me—by—my ankles—in the—deepest well?” Numair gasped weakly at her. It was something he very often threatened he would do to her, if she got herself hurt. Tears stung her eyes and she looked out to the ship and then back to Numair, utterly at a loss. Wild Magic was useless against the gods, and, for the first time, she cursed it.

“I’ll drop you in the deepest pit,” she whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she hugged him, eyes sliding nervously to her dragon. “That goes for you too, Kit, and you, Ala—”

She didn’t see the next slice of lightning, but the thunder interrupted her. Numair sagged, wheezing. Alanna had fallen to her knees. Kitten was thrown back, off their joined hands. Daine lunged again, catching her dragon. “Kit!”

A small whistle answered her, and Daine held her close. “You’re done,” she whispered to the young dragon, frightened when she didn’t protest. Another crash echoed around the meadow; Numair sagged again, and Daine supported him with her shoulder. 

Two mortals could not defend something that the gods wanted gone. It was simply impossible. She looked back at Jack, silhouetted in the night, and silently willed him to hurry. Numair began to tremble in her arms and she turned to him in horror.

“Don’t use your life force,” Daine hissed, terrified and helpless and _hating_ it, as she saw his face contort with concentration. “Don’t you dare, Numair Salmalin.”

He wheezed weakly at her. “Magelet—I’ll—collapse if I—don’t,” he panted.

A flash of lightning; a howl of thunder. Alanna made a small keening noise, and Numair became a dead weight in her arms.

“NUMAIR!” Daine cried, lowering him carefully to the ground. Alanna, barely conscience beside him, tried to heave herself up. She extended her hand; a weak, washed out violet glow, but that was all. Daine rushed over to her.

“Can you—” she whispered, as Alanna’s light extinguished. Daine gave a stifled, horrified sob and gasped in relief when Alanna squeezed her arm weakly.

“Drained,” the lady knight wheezed, lit up briefly by lightening. She sagged, on the verge of passing out, and the following crash of thunder smothered Daine’s reply. Carefully, she helped Alanna lie down next to Numair, so she could watch them both with her mage’s head in her lap. She felt his pulse, gasping with relief when it fluttered against her fingers, weak but steady. Daine turned her head, feeling helpless, clutching a half-conscious Kitten to her chest. A low, horrified moan escaped from her throat.

The ship was in flames. She heard screaming; the hatch was lowering, but too slowly. It came to a shuddering halt. She watched Jack try to shoot the hinges with his revolver, to no avail; lightning split the sky again, crashing the ship and melting the metal. Huge sparks flung off the ship and she cried out in shock and fear as one stabbed at Jack. He was flung in the air, arms flailing, and hit the ground, the sound drowned out by more thunder. Another lightning bolt, and another; the flames licked the ship. Daine tried to get up to help, unsure of what to do but it would be better than standing here, helpless; Red pranced against her hold, but it suddenly felt like a thousand hands were holding her down.

“Let me go!” she screamed, once, and everything went black.


	27. Twenty Seven

_Jack! Jack Harkness! I’m looking for—_

_Ianto?_

Coming back to life hurt. It always did. Air filled lungs that had emptied like old balloons, and blood pumped into an oxygen-starved brain. Jack gasped and sat up.

It was daytime, he was in a meadow and—

The Nepthalae!

Jack scrambled to his feet, but his breath caught and his eyes pricked at what he saw.

They were dead. He could smell it from here, and the smoke curling up from the wreck made it obvious. The ship was destroyed, completely and utterly. Huge craters marked where the lightning had struck, the metal melted around the edges and the tang of rust and blood was in the air. He swallowed, feeling sick. All those innocent people—

“Jack.”

Jack blinked at his name and turned. Owen Harper was standing behind him, wide-eyed.

“I’m dreaming,” Jack said flatly, and Owen shook his head.

His friend was insubstantial; Jack could see the wreckage through Owen’s black leather jacket, and his feet did not touch the grass. “I can’t talk to you when you’re dead,” Owen said, voice soft. He turned his head and saw the ship; wincing, he turned back. “I couldn’t stop them. Jack. You have to believe me, okay, I couldn’t stop them. I had no idea they were going to do this, Jack, I—” he took a deep, shuddering breath, collecting himself. The ghost, and that was what he was—he was fading before Jack’s eyes – looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“I know, Owen,” Jack said quietly, absolving his friend of guilt. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“Yeah, okay,” Owen murmured, and vanished with the wind.

“It was mine,” Jack whispered again, staring at the ruined ship. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Something soft touched his back and Jack jumped, spinning away. He relaxed when he saw Red, head hanging low and eyes rolling at the stench of death. A huge breath escaped Jack when he saw the horse was alive.

“Red,” he whispered gratefully, touching his gelding’s gray nose. Red locked his knees, clearly fighting terror, but he bent his neck to rest his nose on Jack’s coat-covered shoulder. The fire retardant spell had done its job; Jack’s poor coat was intact, as though nothing had happened, although his clothes beneath were somewhat singed.

That was something, Jack thought wildly, and then immediately berated himself as Red’s breath whispered out, warming his palm. He needed to calm down. He needed to take a deep breath, calm down, and ride Red back to make sure that his friends were okay. Oh, god, his friends—

That shook him out of his shock. Swinging up onto the horse’s back, he urged Red to turn. The dappled gelding seemed grateful for that, spinning on a dime and racing to camp. He pitched to a halt, and Jack gasped at what he saw, leaping from Red’s back and staggering to the ground so quickly that the horse started in surprise.

Daine was twisted at an odd angle, her body collapsed backward with Numair’s head in her lap. Alanna was beside them, curled facing Numair on her side. Kitten was half on Daine’s belly and half off, lying with her neck outstretched. They all looked dead.

Panic rose sharply in Jack’s throat. I told the badger, he thought hysterically, I told him that the people I protect tend to die! He knelt down and placed two shaking fingers on Daine’s throat, nearly collapsing with relief when he felt the flutter of her pulse. He moved to Alanna and Numair, and sighed deeply when they were alive as well, although Numair’s heartbeat was worryingly faint.

“I’m sorry,” he told the mage quietly, realizing that he had demanded too much. “I won’t ask something like this of you again.”

Turning to Kitten, he held his palm over her nose. Jack swallowed as relief washed over him when he felt her warmed breath on his hand. Okay. They were alive. Everyone was alive. He took a deep, calming breath that seemed loud in the still morning. No. Actually, everyone wasn’t alive: everyone had died. That was nothing new. Everyone always died. But at least, at the very least, the people he had promised he would protect were alive.

Something hard clamped on his shoulder and yanked. He heard Red whinny in protest. He turned and saw Cloud, who looked beyond pissed off. Her teeth were digging into his shoulder.

“Oh,” he said. The pony’s teeth tightened and her eyes sharpened with accusation. The animals here were too smart for their own good.

“I’m sorry,” Jack told the mare quietly. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Red snorted and rested his nose on Cloud’s shoulder. The pony released Jack, ears flat back, and lunged for Red. Jack heard her teeth click shut when she missed him. Red darted back, half rearing, his ears flat against his skull. He squealed. Darkmoon and Spots, Jack saw, were watching warily.

“Stop it, both of you,” Jack snapped. He should’ve felt foolish, but he really didn’t. Maybe this was what it was like to go mad. “Fighting isn’t going to help.”

The gray pony’s ears flattened further, if that was possible. She snorted in disgust. Then, suddenly, she huffed, eyes widening and ears pricked forward. Someone groaned, and Jack turned.

“Daine!” He rushed over to her side, Cloud hot on his heels.

She groaned again. “Jack?” she asked. She squinted, wincing at the sun. “What—” she paused, and Jack watched the memory steal across her eyes. “The Nepthalae!” she gasped, trying to sit up and held down by Numair and Kitten. “Oh—” she said and gathered the dragon into her arms and laid a palm frantically on Numair’s cheek.

“They’re alive,” Jack told her, feeling guilty and unhelpful. A tremor went up his spine, and he fought for control. “Unconscious; I checked. Daine, I’m so—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Daine interrupted him, one hand smoothing Numair’s cheek and the other clutching Kitten. She leaned back and closed her eyes when Cloud rested her nose on her shoulder. There was a moment of silence as they spoke and then Cloud bit Daine, hard, as she had done to Jack. Daine waved her away and turned back to him. Firmly, she stated, “You were trying to help, and you don’t know the laws of magic.”

“There’s laws?” Jack asked weakly, and Daine glared at him.

“Stopping natural forces is one of the most dangerous things you can do,” she said. “Stopping gods is deadly. You made Numair and Alanna do both.” She wound a strand of Numair’s hair around her finger before feeling his pulse for herself. “They’re unconscious,” she said. “Drained, I’d imagine. They should be fine.” She bent down to kiss Numair’s forehead anxiously.

Jack turned away from the private moment, and then made a promise he couldn’t keep. “I won’t ask them to do it again.” He looked at the ship, smoking in ruin. It looked like the Torchwood Hub in his dreams, he thought darkly, only there was no Owen to berate him.

He suddenly wanted Ianto, he wanted his unfailing support or his hand on his shoulder or _something_ , and the fact that he was not there was almost enough to swamp him.

“Liar,” Daine accused. Jack bowed his head.

“You shouldn’t be helping me,” he said quietly. “I can do this on my own. I _should_ do this on my own.” Ianto died because I should’ve been on my own, he wanted to tell her, but the words would not come.

“Don’t be stupid,” Daine said. “They’re our Gates too. You’re not getting rid of us this easily.”

Jack swallowed. “Am I a horrible person to be grateful?”

“No.” Daine said, matter-of-fact. “You’d be a horrible person if you weren’t.”

“Thank you,” Jack whispered, but it was another lie.

There was a silence.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Daine asked, voice choking up as she gathered Numair and Kitten closer as if to defend herself from her own words. “The Nepthalae.”

Jack nodded. “Yes.”

“That was wrong,” Daine said after a moment, wiping her eyes. “I don’t care what the gods say. That was _wrong_.” She looked up at the sky. “And don’t think I didn’t catch that,” she told the clouds angrily. “You knocked me out. I don’t care what you say—whether you were Ma or Da, the badger or Mithros himself—you did it and I’m not happy. Don’t do it again, if you please.”

 _\--A bit high and mighty of you to be demanding such things, kit,—_ a familiar voice said. Jack and Daine turned.

“You again,” Jack growled, and Daine’s voice was only moderately more welcoming.

“Hello, badger,” she said flatly.

 _\--Do not blame me for the misdeeds of your two-legger gods,--_ the badger said, appearing in a burst of silver light and waddling over. _–The decision was not mine.—_

“But you approved of it,” Jack snapped before Daine could say anything. Almost unconsciously, he tensed, shifting himself slightly so that he could dive in front of her if he needed to. Numair had told him that the badger was Daine’s mentor, but after this _fiasco_ he wasn’t trusting anything that called itself a god. “I distinctly remember you calling weevils ‘disgusting.’”

 _\--I do believe that that was a sentiment your Torchwood shared, was it not?—_ The badger’s eyes were cold and flat, and Jack’s rage boiled over.

He shot to his feet. “ _Do not talk to me about Torchwood,_ ” he snarled, but Daine reined him in, reaching up and taking his balled fist in her hand. Jack turned back to her, Kitten and Numair in her lap, and some of the fury left him. Here and now, his friends were in need. He stepped back and crouched next to her again, still defensive.

“Why did they kill the Nepthalae?” Daine’s voice was very soft, and very dangerous. She, too, was not pleased, and Jack marveled for a moment at her loyalty.

The badger sighed deeply. _–I do not imagine that you would understand, my kit,--_ he said.

“Try me,” Daine replied, tugging on Jack to sit next to her. He resisted, preferring to crouch. He could get up faster that way, should he need to. She didn’t let go of his hand, and Jack was absurdly grateful, even as he spoke angrily.

“Because the Nepthalae were beyond their control,” he spat. “They did not fall under their godly—”

 _\--Do not speak of things that you don’t understand, immortal,--_ the badger snapped. _–There is more to it than that. I don’t suppose your Owen Harper explained any of it to you?—_

“Who?” Daine asked, looking up at Jack.

“Owen,” Jack muttered. “My friend who’s not really dead. He’s been visiting me in my dreams.”

Daine squeezed his hand. “You talk to Owen or no one at all,” she remembered, and Jack nodded, squeezing her hand back.

 _\--If I may continue?—_ the badger growled, _\--We, as gods, are obviously in some semblance of control of this world. The inability to control something is, indeed frightful – but we cannot control Immortals, so why do we react with such fright to aliens? I will tell you why. It is for the same reason that you are not allowed in the Divine Realms, kit. The presence of a thing on this planet that is not from this planet or its divine counterpart strengthens Chaos. With every alien that sets foot, claw or tentacle here, Queen Uusoae gains a foothold.—_

“Queen who?” Jack demanded.

“The Queen of Chaos,” Daine whispered, eyes wide. “The Great Gods stand for order,” she told him, “and Uusoae stands for Chaos. The legend goes that when Uusoae breaks free from the Great Gods, the world will be destroyed. You think Uusoae stole the Guardian?”

“This would’ve been nice to know before,” Jack muttered, but the badger spared him nothing more than an inscrutable look with its cold, flat eyes before turning back to Daine.

_\--It is doubtful. She was, as you remember, imprisoned. However, the aliens were here in such great numbers, and you saw what they did. They attracted the basilisks, with stone in the air. Here, in front of them, was not only stone they could breathe but also a culture and a language that they could not learn, not because we forbade it, but because it was beyond them. Their power means nothing to beings from other worlds. Aliens that come here defy our natural law and feed Chaos. If there are too many, Uusoae will break free. They must be eliminated.—_

“What about me?” Jack said. “Why don’t you eliminate me?”

 _\--You cannot be eliminated. The Bad Wolf protects you.—_ The badger watched Jack with keen eyes. _–Although you, too, strengthen her.—_

“But we were going to send the Nepthalae away,” Daine protested. “They weren’t going to stay here!”

 _\--It would have taken too long. The longer they are here, the more Chaos they cause. They had to be destroyed. Your mage is lucky not to have been destroyed with them.—_ He nodded to Numair. Daine swallowed and Jack tensed further. _–The Graveyard Hag thinks that this is a warning to you, but I know you better, kit.—_

Daine scowled and Jack looked away. “What she did to Jack was unfair,” she said.

“Leave it,” Jack said.

 _\--It was unfair,--_ the badger agreed, _\--And it was reckless. We have no control of other Places, and now your Ianto Jones is aware of what is happening. Dead or not, that could be disastrous for this world. The Hag will be punished.—_

Jack’s eyes whipped back to the badger. “Aware?” he asked, voice catching. The animal looked back at him, cold and intelligent. Daine squeezed Jack’s hand again.

 _\--The Hag will be punished,--_ it repeated and then turned to Numair and Alanna. Waddling over, it breathed on them. The exhalation came out as a white mist that swirled around the two mortals, and they both jerked awake.

 _\--Go and find the weevils,--_ the badger commanded. _–Every moment they are here, they increase the foothold of Chaos.—_ He vanished with a burst of silver light and Jack was just about to make a sarcastic comment when he was interrupted.

“What just happened?” Alanna demanded. Jack rushed to her side as Numair groaned.

“I feel _awful_ ,” he complained, sinking back onto Daine’s lap. Kitten gave a miserable cheep from somewhere around her left knee, and Daine gasped. She swooped down and kissed Numair, clutching him tightly.

Jack knelt by Alanna and rested a hand on her forehead. Daine seemed to have Numair and Kit under control, but someone had to look after Alanna, too. She swallowed, looking green. He helped her sit up.

“Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again!” Daine was scolding loudly, and snatching Kitten into her arms. “Ever!” She squeezed the dragon tightly. Kit wriggled, squealing in protest. Alanna, practically in Jack’s arms, flinched at the noise.

“Urgh, I don’t plan on it,” Numair mumbled, sitting up a little for another kiss. Kitten trilled indignantly when they squashed her in between them, but neither seemed to care. When they parted, Numair rested his head on Daine’s shoulder. “Can I throw up now?”

“No,” Daine said, giggles that sounded hysterical muffling her voice. “You’re alright now.” She cupped the back of his head, fretfully stroking his long, dark hair, which had come undone from his neat ponytail.

“No, I think vomiting is a real possibility,” Alanna told Jack, actually letting him wrap her in his arms. He held her steady, protectively. She had been so brave. They all had. She closed her eyes, leaning into Jack. “We couldn’t do it, could we? They’re dead.” Her voice was soft and somber.

“Yes,” Jack whispered, hugging her close, as much for her reassurance as for his own. He was so glad they were alive. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I won’t push you so hard next time, I—”

“Don’t be absurd,” Numair said, muffled by Daine’s shoulder. “We couldn’t just let them die.” He clutched Daine to him then, and looked up at Jack. “But that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?” Kitten whistled sadly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jack said, unable to look away from the mage’s bitter dark eyes. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the damn gods here.”

“What do we do now?” Daine asked. She hugged Numair and Kitten closer.

“We look for survivors,” Alanna replied darkly, trying to heave herself to her feet.

“There aren’t any,” Jack said, and he rested a hand on the Lioness’ shoulder, gently pushing her back down. “Rest. I’ll go. You’re exhausted.” He held her for a moment, making sure that she would not rise, before he got up.

“They killed you,” Alanna said after a moment, propping herself up on her elbows to look up at him. Daine, Numair and Kitten turned to Jack.

“Yes,” Jack said.

“You came back to life,” Numair stated the obvious.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Daine said and Jack laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Don’t worry about it. Rest here. I’ll go see if there are any survivors, or if I can scavenge any technology from the ship.”

Four pairs of perplexed eyes, and he almost laughed again at the absurdity of it.

“I might be able to find something for my wrist strap, or a containment unit for the weevils,” Jack explained, forcing down the hysteria. “So we won’t have to kill them to appease your bloodthirsty gods. It isn’t disrespectful,” he continued, a lie, “It’s what people do out there.” He waved his hand up to the sky. That was true.

The three exhausted Tortallans and the young dragon believed him, or they were too tired to argue. Either way, Jack beckoned Red over. He bridled the horse and saddled him this time, before riding him back out to the ship.

“We’re going to have to keep going,” he told the dappled gelding. “Despite all this. They’re loyal to me, now. Damn. I’m really going to have to do this.”

They reached the burned out ship and Jack dismounted. Red lowered his head and pressed his nose onto Jack’s shoulder, a clear indication that he was loyal, too.

Jack rested a hand on his cheek. “It’s going to be scary,” he whispered. “This isn’t over yet.”

Red bit his shoulder and squeezed before pulling back and butting him, gently, towards the ship.

Jack didn’t need Daine to translate that. _I know. We’re with you,_ he seemed to be saying.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jack replied sadly and, turning, marched himself to the ruined ship. He had bodies to count and technology to scavenge.

Just like Torchwood.

 

 

 

END PART I

**Author's Note:**

> So, fun notes on this story: I wrote this in about 2009, soon after Children of Earth came out. It's meant to read easy; if you're a Torchwood fan and don't know Tortall, that's fine, and if you're a Tamora Pirece fan and don't know Torchwood, that's fine too. These two universes are about as different as it gets--and that's the fun! 
> 
> The whole premise of this was that CoE was so terribly dark--and I wanted to know what would happen if I crossed it with a fairly light universe. 
> 
> The thought of Captain Jack Harkness, post CoE, traveling through space – Ex-conman-turned-hero-turned-monster-turned-hitchhiker-turned-back-to-a-conman – ending up in Tortall of all places, promised an interesting story. Tortall has a tendency to heal people; would Jack let himself be healed? Or would he bring destruction with him, just as the Doctor does? I didn’t know when I started this. It started with me just plonking Jack down and seeing what happened; it turned out rather well, I think. I started editing it again about a month ago, and I figured, what the hell--why not post it to AO3? 
> 
> So here's the New And Improved, Edited and Smoothed Guardian of the Gates. 
> 
> The series ends happy, but it's going to be a bumpy ride!


End file.
